The Eyes Of The Beholder, Part Two
by loobeyloo
Summary: After Alex's revelation, Hawke has a difficult decision to make, but before he has a chance to tell her what it is, the Russians put their dastardly plan into action, and, it appears that Alex is the only one who is sure that something is amiss.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE.**

_**Outside The Santini Air Hangar, Van Nuys Airport, California.**_

_**Friday 25**__**th**__** May, 1984.**_

The shrill, insistent ringing of the telephone split the otherwise peaceful mid afternoon as Stringfellow Hawke wrestled with trying to loosen a particularly stubborn wing nut. He was still working on the engine of the Stearman, out on the tarmac outside the main building.

The temptation to feel the pleasant warmth of the California sunshine on his body had been too great.

"Oh …. For crying out loud …." He groaned expressively.

He lay with his eyes closed, briefly listening to the telephone ringing, grating on his nerves with its persistence, then he carefully set down the oily rag and wrench that he was holding, rose agilely and trotted across the tarmac to the hangar.

"Hello Dominic …." He answered the phone extension just inside the hangar doorway, a little breathlessly, in a gruff voice and with an exasperated sigh for good measure.

"What took you so long?" Dominic Santini demanded in a hoarse voice, not even questioning how the younger man had known that it was him on the other end of the line, then proceeded to sneeze loudly several times, causing Hawke to snatch the telephone receiver away from his ear lest he be deafened.

"You sound better …." Hawke drawled sarcastically when he eventually put the receiver back to his ear.

"Clown …. Have a little sympathy for a guy who is suffering here …." Santini snivelled.

Hawke had had plenty of sympathy with the older man when he had returned from Seattle, two days late, after having been delayed, firstly by high winds and then by fog, and in the grips of a nasty head cold and a fever.

However his sympathy had soon run out when Dominic had had him running around fetching aspirin and Vitamin C from the drugstore and calling the hangar every five minutes to remind him to pay an invoice or to order a part or to cancel a flying lesson with a regular customer ….

For the past two days, every time he had tried to get down to some serious work on the Stearman's engine, Dominic Santini had called with yet another request.

Frankly, Hawke was all sympathied out ….

"When you coming back to work?" He snarled.

"Why? Too tough for you to handle on your own?" Santini croaked back.

"No …. But at least the phone will stop ringing …."

"Oh …. I see …. Tired of helping out a sick old man …."

"Dom …. For a guy with a sore throat, you sure can talk …. What do you want?"

"Sore throat ….. Hah! That's it …. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind stopping by the store and getting some honey …. And lemons …."

"Honey and lemons …." Hawke sighed deeply and rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Ok, Dom …. Anything else while I'm gonna be there?"

"Well …. If you're offering, I could use a loaf of bread, some milk, and a little Pastrami …."

"Dom …."

"Feed a cold."

"And starve a fever …." Hawke growled.

"Fever broke in the night …." Santini countered.

Hawke could not suppress a smile.

If the old man had gotten his appetite back it was a good sign, and then maybe he would show up for work on Monday and they could get something done around here.

"Ok …. Bread, milk, Pastrami, honey, lemons …. Maybe I should throw in a little garlic for good luck …."

"No …. but a few bottles of beer wouldn't go amiss …."

Hawke pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying something that would upset the older man.

"Can I get back to the Stearman now?"

"You _**still**_ working on that?" Santini's voice rose in incredulity.

"Yeah, I'm _**still **_working on that …." Hawke drawled. "Never gonna finish it either, if every time I manage to get the wrench in my hand the phone rings …." He sighed deeply. "Go back to bed, Dom and I'll see you later."

Hawke set the telephone receiver back down before Dominic Santini could say anything else, and leaned against the hangar doorframe, squinting in the bright sunlight as he suddenly noticed two heavy set men admiring, the Stearman out there on the tarmac.

He scratched the side of his head with oil smeared fingers and tried to decide if he wanted coffee before he went back to try to start work on the Stearman again ….

Although he just _**knew**_ that Santini would be on the horn again inside five minutes with another item to add to his shopping list ….

Pop corn ….

Or potato chips …. To go with the beer ….

_**Coffee ….**_

_**Best idea you've had all day ….**_

He sauntered back into the hangar and over to the hotplate where he poured out a small mug of the thick, aromatic black coffee and sipped at it with appreciation.

It was nice to just have five minutes to himself.

Since getting back from the cabin he seemed not to have had any time to himself at all.

He hadn't seen Alex since Sunday night when, he had driven her back to her place and left her on the doorstep with a kiss that had left them both weak at the knees and breathless.

If that had left her with any doubts as to his true feelings for her, then he didn't know what else he could do ….

After her revelations Saturday night, they had slept fitfully in each other's arms and then in the early hours of the morning they had finally turned to each other for comfort and their love making had been the most tender and passionate that he had ever known ….

And when it was over, they had held each other tightly, reaching a silent agreement that they would enjoy what was left of their time alone together and not spoil it with still more talking ….

They had walked and laughed and chased each other and Tet around the lake before making a hearty lunch to finish off what was left of the fresh supplies, as Hawke did not know when he would be returning to the cabin next, and then they had packed up the chopper and headed back to Los Angeles.

When he had finally said goodnight to her on her doorstep, Hawke had promised her that he would call her ….

That he wouldn't make her wait too long ….

And that when he did he would have answers for her ….

She had nodded silently, and then gently pressed a soft kiss to his rough cheek, her fingers lingering lightly over the livid bruise that was now colouring the outside of his left eye, staring deeply into his beautiful blue eyes, as though desperately trying to commit his image to memory.

As though she feared that she would never see him again ….

And he had felt the need to reassure her with another deep, drugging kiss ….

Hawke had lain awake for most of that night, thinking ….

And he just kept coming back to the fact that he loved her ….

Remembering what Dominic Santini had told him, a few weeks back ….

That getting hurt was the price you paid for loving someone ….

When Dom had called on Monday to say that he was socked in by bad weather and would not be back for maybe a couple of days, when the weather forecast was for clearing skies, Hawke had thrown himself into tidying the hangar and clearing the backlog of paperwork on Dom's desk ….

Never his favourite job ….

Working himself to the point of exhaustion so that he slept soundly that night.

Wednesday had seen Dom return, looking a little like death warmed over, and Hawke had known that he couldn't let him go home alone.

Hawke had called Alexandra and explained that Dom was sick and that with his work load at the hangar, it would probably be Friday or Saturday night before he would be able to see her ….

When he again promised her, that he would have answers for her.

She had agreed with him, explaining that she too had a lot of preparation work to do for tests for her class and they had agreed a time and a place to meet on Friday evening, before ending the call.

Hawke had taken Dominic Santini home and had spent the night with him, feeding him aspirin and cough medicine and fruit juice and trying to settle on the lumpy, over sprung old couch ….

And finally, Dominic had prised out of him what was on his mind ….

He had been vague about details ….

Just giving Dominic a brief outline, and the older man had looked him squarely in the eye and asked him what the problem was ….

Hawke had laughed out loud.

_**Trust Dom to get to the crux of the matter.**_

So what exactly was his problem?

He _**loved**_ Alex ….

_**Wasn't that really all that mattered?**_

After another fit of sneezes, Dominic Santini had regarded his young friend and let out a soft sigh.

"You love her …." He had said sagely. "You can't deny it …. It's written all over your face …. And I guess she must be pretty serious about you too, else she probably wouldn't have said anything about this …. Epilepsy thing …." He sighed again. "So tell me, son, would you love her any less if she had say …. Diabetes …. Asthma …. Or if she had a heart condition?"

"No …." Hawke had sighed deeply then, seeing where Dominic was heading.

"I mean, she's on medication, you said …." Hawke had nodded in confirmation. "So …. It's just one small imperfection …. One you can't even see, right? Sounds to me like all the more reason why you should love each other as much as you can, while you can …. We're all a long time dead, String …. And love like this doesn't come around every day of the week …. Don't you _**know**_ that by now? Live for today …. And let tomorrow take care of its self …." Had been Dominic's wise advice, and the relief that Stringfellow Hawke had felt had been immense, like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest.

Dominic was right.

Love like theirs _**did not**_ come around every day ….

And he would be a fool to walk away from something so perfect ….

So beautiful ….

Because he feared the pain he might be subjected to when it ended ….

It did not have to end with Alex's death ….

Or _**his **_death ….

It could just as easily end because he was a stubborn, pig headed, moody SOB and she couldn't put up with him any more ….

_**It didn't have to end at all ….**_

They could live happily ever after for many years to come and have long, productive and fruitful lives together ….

Wasn't it worth taking a chance on?

Hawke had smiled softly then and Dominic Santini had grinned at him.

"I see you've made up your mind …."

"Yeah …. Guess so …."

"You won't regret it, String …. No-one should be alone …. Especially someone as young as you …. When someone out there is offering a heart and arms full of unconditional love …. Grab it with both hands, son, and give it back with all your heart and all your soul …. And you won't believe the rewards …."

"You through?" Hawke had chuckled then.

"Yeah … now get me some more aspirin …. Oy my head …. My back …. My throat …. Hurry up will ya …. I think I'm dying here …. And when are you gonna tell me how you got that beautiful shiner …."

All day Thursday, Hawke had had to fight the impulse to pick up the phone and call Alex ….

To jump into the jeep and drive over to her place and sweep her off her feet …. Tell her that he knew what he wanted now ….

And that was to have her in his life whatever the cost ….

For however long they made each other happy ….

He wanted it all ….

_**With her ….**_

But he had resisted the temptation ….

Knowing that seeing her on Friday night ….

Tonight ….

Would be all the sweeter.

He could even picture the look on her face ….

"Hello in the hangar …."

Hawke's reverie was rudely interrupted and he turned around to find the two men who had been interested in the Stearman, now standing just inside the hangar doorway.

They were well built, clad in smart dark grey business suits and reflective sun shades and just for a moment, Hawke thought that he recognised the heavy accent as something Eastern European.

"Hi …." He greeted the men with just a hint of suspicion. "Can I help you?"

"Yes .… Actually, we were just admiring the …." Hawke watched as both men began to walk confidently toward him, indicating with their thumbs to the aircraft parked on the tarmac outside.

"Stearman …. It's a Stearman …." Hawke sighed, his suspicion growing now. If they were genuinely interested in the old plane, you would have thought that they would at least have known what model she was ….

"Quite a beautiful machine …." The first man said in a very heavy accent as he drew closer to Hawke.

"Yeah …." Hawke responded, eyes narrowing slightly, oil smeared fingers drifting absently up to rub at the developing bruise close to his left eye …. Leaving a black smudge of grease covering the bruise ….

He was beginning to get a very weird feeling here ….

That peculiar niggle in the back of his head ….

That certain _**something**_ that alerted him to coming danger was prodding him now ….

And he had learned never to ignore it ….

It had saved his life on more than one occasion.

"We would be most interested in buying such a beautiful machine …." This from the second man, who moved beyond where Hawke was standing, toward where the Bell Jet Ranger was located, on the other side of the hangar, where it had been stored after refuelling.

"Sorry. It's not for sale …. At least not through Santini Air …. We've only been hired to maintain and restore her …." He explained, frowning as he watched the second man peering into the cockpit of the Bell Jet Ranger. "But …. If you're really interested, I guess I could give the owner a call …."

"Please, do not trouble yourself …."

"It is not the real purpose of our visit here …."

"No …. We are looking for a certain gentleman …. A …. Pilot …. A man called Stringfellow Hawke …."

"Who wants him?"

"I am Klaus Bauer and this is my colleague, Viktor Von Schmidt …." Hawke nodded, looking from one to the other of them, but did not speak.

"We are from out of town …. Businessmen from West Germany, presently here on vacation …." The first man explained and while he talked, the other man continued to pace around the Bell Jet Ranger.

It made Hawke _**very**_ nervous that one of them was out of his line of sight ….

While the other one was keeping him occupied ….

_**He didn't like it.**_

_**Not one bit.**_

But he couldn't for the life of him think what they _**really**_ wanted ….

_**If they were thinking of stealing a chopper, then they were fools ….**_

Everyone on the strip knew Hawke and Dominic well, and the Santini Air colours …. and would be on the telephone to the cops in minutes ….

There was nothing else of value on the premises ….

Certainly no large sums of money …. Just change in the petty cash box ….

One thing was for sure ….

Something just didn't add up ….

Good manners meant that Hawke was having to look at the first man while he spoke, which meant that he couldn't watch the second man as closely as his intuition was telling him he _**needed**_ to ….

But while he was worrying about what the second man might be up to behind him, he wasn't really concentrating on what the first man was saying either ….

_**Did he say they were from West Germany?**_

Again that niggle in the back of his head ….

He could have sworn ….

The more he heard of those accents .…

He could have sworn they were more like ….

_**Russian ….**_

And there was the damned phone again ….

_**Dammit Dom …. Your timing is brilliant ….**_

"We should explain …." The first man, the one who had introduced himself as Bauer, continued, noting Hawke's eyes as they briefly flicked toward the office and the peeling telephone.

"Back home, in Germany, we are movie makers …." He confided, smiling smugly, trying to draw Hawke's attention back. "We make films for cinema and television …. Also public information films and commercials …. Not like your Hollywood, but …. We make a good living and have a good reputation …." He explained in a heavy accent.

"We are looking for a stunt pilot for our next picture …. And we were told that this Stringfellow Hawke is the best …."

"Don't they have stunt pilots in Germany?" Hawke frowned, preoccupied with finding out what Dominic Santini could possibly want now, but grateful for the interruption so that he could figure out what it was these creeps _**really**_ wanted ….

"Ja …. Naturlich …. Of course …. But we really need a very good pilot …. A skillful …. but flamboyant pilot …. for our next picture …. A risk taker …. Fearless …. Someone who enjoys a challenge …." This, from the man who had been introduced as Von Schmidt, now.

"I should get that …." Hawke said absently, waving vaguely toward the office with an oil smeared hand, then frowned, as he realised what the foreigner had said. "Skillful _**and **_flamboyant?" He queried. "Any decent pilot worth his salt will tell you that the two things are mutually _**exclusive**_ to each other …" He pointed out gruffly.

"If this Hawke fella is really as good as you seem to think, then he'll tell you that safety is the most important thing …. Making it look good is down to the guys on the ground and the guys in the back room putting together the special effects …. There are enough risks in going up, flying straight and level and getting back down again …. Anyone who wants to fool around up there isn't a good pilot .… he's just an idiot …." He concluded.

_**Dammit, now he had lost sight of the other man …. **_

Hawke had an awful sinking feeling that he had circled around behind him ….

"Look …. I _**really**_ should get that …." Hawke added casually, eyes darting between the first man and the office again. "The boss …. Home sick with a cold …. But that doesn't stop him checking up on me …."

"Let it ring, Mr Hawke …."

The second man, Von Schmidt, suddenly appeared behind him ….

His harsh, gravel voice close in Hawke's ear ….

Pointing a gun at the tender flesh of his temple.

"Hey …. I think you got the wrong guy …. I'm not Hawke …." He protested calmly.

"Oh please, Mr Hawke …. Do not play games with us …."

"You _**are**_ Stringfellow Hawke …." This from the first man, Bauer, now, who was wearing a particularly nasty, yet knowing smile. "Now if you will be so kind as to take off your clothes …. Coverall …. watch …. Bracelet …. Remove them very slowly, Mr Hawke …. No sudden moves, if you please, my friend has a nervous trigger finger …."

To emphasize the point, Von Schmidt jammed the cold steel of the handgun deeper into the skin at Hawke's temple, and with a brief shrug of acquiescence, Hawke began to unbutton the grease stained coverall.

While Hawke undressed, Bauer fished a small two way radio out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and spoke into it ….

Gruff, staccato language, guttural and completely incomprehensible to Hawke, as he stepped slowly out of the coverall.

And he guessed that it was indeed Russian.

He also knew that he was trapped.

_**A sitting duck ….**_

He could maybe take out one of them ….

The first guy ….

Bauer ….

But the other one, Von Schmidt ….. with that gun, he would be a problem ….

If he really did have a nervous trigger finger ….

Hawke knew that he couldn't take the chance of getting his head blown off ….

He would have to wait it out and see where this was heading ….

They didn't want him dead.

He was _**sure **_of that.

They wouldn't have wasted time in concocting the story about needing a stunt pilot if all they wanted was to kill him.

When they had discovered that he was here alone, it would have been a simple job to just shoot him and make their getaway ….

No ….

They were well prepared …

Which meant that they had a purpose ….

Which meant that they needed to keep him alive ….

_**Airwolf ….**_

That was what this was all about ….

_**It had to be.**_

It was the only thing that made sense ….

And it gave him a moment of hope ….

They couldn't kill him ….

They needed him ….

Firstly to tell them where Airwolf was ….

And secondly, to fly her for them ….

In the brief instant that all of this was flashing through Hawke's mind, a dark grey limousine swept into the hangar and pulled up in front of Hawke and the two Russians ….

Hawke suddenly noticed that the telephone had stopped ringing ….

And he silently thanked God that Dominic was not here ….

Because, he suddenly had a horrible feeling that this was going to get real ugly real soon ….

Dropping his watch and bracelet on top of the rumpled coverall on the ground, Hawke watched in morbid fascination as five more men got out of the luxury car, all but one of them armed with similar handguns to the other two.

Three stayed with the car ….

One of them covering the hangar door, the other moving slightly to cover Bauer's back ….

And one more ….

The one without a weapon …. who held back …. His back turned to Hawke, while the other four walked quickly toward him ….

But Hawke could see that there was a marked difference between this man and the others …. He was of medium height and build …. Not dissimilar to his own …. And most definitely not like the heavier, more powerfully built men who accompanied him.

Hawke also noted that one of the advancing men was carrying what looked like a medical bag, which he set down on the workbench and opened quickly, while the other two came around behind Hawke to join the man who held the gun to his head.

"Roll up your sleeve, Mr Hawke …." Bauer, producing his own weapon now and waving it recklessly in Hawke's face, ordered, but when Hawke did not immediately react, the two newcomers suddenly grabbed his arms and yanked them roughly behind his back, while Bauer barked out a fresh set of orders in Russian, which then resulted in Hawke's left arm instantly being yanked back out in front of him and his shirt sleeve being roughly pulled open and shoved up his arm.

"You would do better to co-operate with us, Mr Hawke …." The man with the gun to his head sneered. "You are going to be spending considerable time as our …. Guest …."

"It won't hurt a bit …." Bauer was also smiling cruelly as Hawke watched the man who had been carrying the medical bag begin to walk toward him, now carrying a loaded hypodermic syringe …. "Dr Dimitriov here has orders to be especially gentle with our new American …. Friend …."

Hawke's deep blue eyes suddenly grew wide with anxiety at the sudden realisation of what they were about to do ….

He began to struggle, trying to wrench free, but the Russians' grip on his arms were like steel bands, and he knew that it was futile.

In a few seconds the man with the syringe was on him, jabbing the needle into his arm and delivering the substance within swiftly ….

Hawke felt it hot and stinging as it entered his blood stream, burning as it dispersed around his body swiftly, aided by the frantic pounding of his heart.

Almost immediately the hangar began to swim in front of his eyes ….

Whatever it was they had used was powerful stuff ….

He could already feel his strength ebbing away ….

Draining out of him …. Down through his legs ….

The Russians having to take more and more of his weight as he felt consciousness slipping away from him.

He blinked rapidly several times to try to clear his vision, but it was useless …. Suddenly it was like watching everything in slow motion ….

He could hear more barked orders in Russian and hurried movements around the hangar, but all he could see were vague shapes and fuzzy faces ….

And he could feel himself being dragged toward the car now …. Rough hands all over his body as his limbs refused to co-operate.

But in one final moment of clarity ….

Stringfellow Hawke struggled, found a meagre resource of energy and managed to break one arm free and tried to make a dash for the door ….

Only to go crashing to the floor, eyes rolling in his head, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he tried to fight off the effects of the drug ….

Strong hands were suddenly upon him once more, hauling him to his feet ….

And the last thing he saw with any real clarity, before being bundled into the back of the grey limousine and succumbing to unconsciousness ….

Was his own face ….

Looming over him ….

Cold, dead, emotionless eyes in a face that so perfectly resembled his own it was like looking at himself in the mirror ….

Vladimir Sevchenko barked out orders to his men as they bundled Hawke into the back of the limousine and then turned to Uri Gregorovich and gave him a look that said things could not have gone better for them ….

It had been a stroke of luck to find Hawke alone at the Santini Air Hangar again today ….

And when it had been clear that no-one was going to be joining him …. That they would encounter no resistance to speak of …. They had quickly decided to put their plan into action.

It had gone perfectly.

"You're men know what to do?" He challenged Gregorovich, as he watched Dr Dimitriov, coaxing the replacement Stringfellow Hawke to don the discarded coverall over his plain blue shirt and blue jeans.

The other man nodded in response, a murderous look in his eyes briefly.

"Then they had better get on with it …. Remember, don't over do it …. We need him alive …."

"Yes, Comrade General …."

Gregorovich indicated to his men that it was time ….

They had talked it over and they knew just how far they needed to go, and which parts of the body they needed to concentrate on ….

They waited while Dr Dimitriov moved away from his patient and returned to his medical bag once more, to prepare another shot.

When it began, the beating was horrific ….

The first blow was to the stomach, winding the replacement Hawke, and as he buckled, his lithe body folding in on it's self as he doubled over in shock and pain, another almighty blow landed squarely on his jaw, then another and another, concentrating mainly on his face, the odd kick to the ribs and stomach, and kidney area of his lower back, but the majority of blows were aimed at and found their target …. On his face ….

Throughout it all, he did not make a sound ….

He couldn't ….

Because, he suspected …. His jaw was either dislocated or broken ….

Within a couple of minutes he was lying breathless and semi conscious on the hangar floor, his face a mass of bleeding cuts and bruises ….

Dimitriov returned to check that they had not gone too far, and administered the shot he had prepared, giving his subject the final command ….

Effectively activating him for his mission ….

Before he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

"Come, Comrade Doctor …. You have a …. new …. _**patient**_ to concentrate on now .…" Vladimir Sevchenko slipped his arm around the doctor's shoulders and guided him toward the limousine, neither man looking back to where the replacement Stringfellow Hawke lay prostrate and unconscious on the hangar floor ….

Now all they could do was put their faith in him ….

And the programming ….

And if all went according to plan ….

Airwolf would soon be in their hands ….

_**And if it did not ….**_

Well, that simply did not bear thinking about ….

As the General and the Doctor slipped silently into the limousine, Gregorovich and his men finished their work by making as much mess of the hangar as they could, endeavouring to make it look like a robbery ….

Scattering papers and parts all over the hangar floor and wrenching the door of the Bell Jet Ranger open to make it look like they had tried to steal it ….

And then they too slid into the limousine and within minutes it was pulling quietly and sedately out of the hangar ….

And none of Santin Air's neighbours were any the wiser.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One.

_**Northridge Medical Centre, Van Nuys, California.**_

_**Early hours of the morning, Saturday 26**__**th**__** May, 1984.**_

Dominic Santini's head shot up as he heard the door at the far end of the corridor swing open and then quietly swish shut.

He watched a young woman, petite and very slender, her short auburn hair slightly unkempt, clad in green surgical scrubs, walk slowly down the corridor toward the nurses station desk and speak to one of the nurses.

It was the same pretty young thing who had watched over Dominic sympathetically as he had filled in the necessary paperwork, while the medical staff had taken care of his young friend.

Dominic watched, his heart in his mouth now, as the young woman in the surgical scrubs turned to look at him and nodded her thanks to the young nurse.

The woman in the scrubs began to walk toward him, and he rose stiffly to greet her, his hat, a battered silky red baseball cap in one hand, the other extended to her in greeting.

"Mr Santini?" He nodded as she took his big, rough hand briefly in her small warm one. "I'm Dr Amanda Brentwood …. I am the surgeon who has been attending to Mr Hawke …."

"How is he?"

Amanda Brentwood immediately felt for the older man.

He looked tired and ashen, his hands trembling slightly, and her heart went out to him.

It was immediately obvious that he cared a great deal for the young man she had just spent time with in the operating room.

Dominic Santini regarded her with big, solemn blue/grey eyes, his anxiety plain to see.

After what had greeted Dominic Santini at the hangar earlier, he was surprised at just how calm he sounded.

It had been one of the worst experiences of his life ….

Seeing Hawke, lying there ….

Lifeless ….

Covered in blood ….

Unconscious and barely breathing ….

He had seriously considered that this time, his young friend might not make it.

His colour had been awful ….

His breathing shallow and raspy …. Barely audible ….

Santini had wasted no time in calling for an ambulance and had somehow managed to get his stiff, awkward old body down on to the floor close beside Hawke …. Holding his cold hand ….

So cold ….

The young man completely unresponsive ….

To either his voice or his touch ….

Wanting so desperately to lift him up off the cold floor and cradle him in his arms, but afraid that if he moved him he might do irreparable damage to the younger man ….

So Dominic had had to make do with holding his limp, cold hand ….

And telling him that everything would be ok ….

Tears falling silently but unashamedly down his pasty face as he waited for the ambulance to arrive.

As a matter of course, the police had also arrived and had tried their damnedest to get him to co-operate with them, but he had insisted that he knew nothing ….

That he had simply been concerned that something had happened to his colleague and that after calling the guy who owned the neighbouring lot and learning that a very valuable aircraft had been left out on the tarmac, he had just _**known **_that something was wrong ….

He had gotten here as quickly as he could, and had found Hawke lying unconscious on the floor, and the hangar wrecked ….

However, the two young police officers had recognised the fact that he was in shock and that they would probably not get anything more coherent out of the old man that night, sensing that the most important thing on his mind, was getting into the back of that ambulance with Hawke and accompanying him to the hospital.

The young police officers had finally realised that he would not be persuaded other wise and let him go, telling him that they would require a statement from him first thing tomorrow.

At first, Dominic had not thought too much about Hawke's lateness ….

He knew the younger man had wanted to finish as much of the work on the Stearman as he could ….

He also knew that that was why Hawke had stopped answering the telephone …. He knew it was just the old timer …. Bored and lonely and wanting to bug him …. And so after the third attempt, Santini had given up and reluctantly decided to let the youngster alone to get on with the job in hand.

But he also knew that Hawke had a date with his lady tonight ….

_**A very important date ….**_

So when he hadn't turned up by six thirty that evening, bearing the groceries that Santini had requested, he had called the hangar again …. But again there had been no reply.

By seven fifteen, Santini had begun to get really worried and called his friend Elliott, the man who owned the lot next to his own, knowing that he never left before eight o'clock every evening, and asked him if he had seen Hawke leave.

When Elliott had confirmed that although the hangar was in darkness, the Stearman was still outside on the tarmac, along with the Santini Air jeep, Dominic Santini _**knew**_ that something was not right.

There was no way that String would just have gone off and left the Stearman sitting on the tarmac.

_**No way ….**_

Dominic had dressed hurriedly in faded and patched old jeans and an old work shirt and gotten his beaten up old truck out of the garage and driven like a bat out of hell down to the hangar ….

And the sight that had greeted him when he flicked on the lights had almost given him a fatal heart attack ….

The hangar was a wreck …

And then he had found Hawke ….

Sprawled on the floor, face pulverised almost beyond recognition ….

And when he had been unable to rouse the younger man, he had immediately called for an ambulance.

The medics in the ambulance had given him little heed as they worked on trying to locate all of Hawke's injuries, and when they had arrived at Northridge Medical Centre, they had speedily rolled Hawke into the Emergency Room, while at the same time indicating that Santini go to the desk and register him.

That had been hours ago ….

How many hours, Santini wasn't sure ….

But it had felt like an eternity.

Everyone was so young ….

Nice ….

Pleasant ….

Smiling and confident ….

But so young ….

And he felt so old and tired and useless ….

No-one had seen fit to come and tell him how Hawke was doing ….

Probably because he wasn't a close, or blood relative ….

Until the pretty blonde nurse on duty at the desk, had finally taken pity on him, coming over to him with coffee, in a small plastic cup and a look of concern etched on her pretty face.

That was when Santini had realised that he obviously didn't look too clever himself.

The blonde nurse had sat down beside him and given him the coffee, taking in his pallor with big concerned grey eyes, then she had offered to try to find out what was happening with Hawke.

When she returned a little while later, it was to say that he was doing well, but that they were waiting to get him into the operating theatre as he needed surgery to reset his fractured jaw ….

_**Dear God ….**_

"Give it to me straight, Doc …." Santini sighed now, as the young doctor gently took his elbow and guided him back to the couch, indicating that he should take a seat.

Dominic, ever the gentleman, indicated that she should sit first.

She smiled tiredly at him, but sat down, nonetheless.

"Now …. Don't hold anything back …."

"It's all right, Mr Santini …. Your young friend is strong and generally in good health …." Dr Brentwood took hold of one of Dominic's big hands and stilled him. "He's fine …. Very lucky actually …. No broken limbs …. No skull fracture …. Ribs in tact …."She did not mention her curiosity about the number of old injuries that had shown up on the X Rays …. Old fractures long healed, but others that seemed to be more recent, although there was nothing to indicate how he had gotten them in his medical file ….

Still, with his occupation ….

Stunt pilot ….

It went with the territory, she had guessed.

"It seems that his face has taken most of the trauma …. He has general bruising to the chest and abdomen and he took quite a nasty kick to the kidneys, but there is no damage …." She told him calmly.

"However, he does have a fractured jaw, which we have now reset …. This also means that we had to wire his jaw …. To keep it in place."

"Geez …."

"It's not as bad as it sounds …. He won't be able to speak or eat very well for a few weeks, but I am confident that he will make a full recovery, without any further complications. However, it doesn't look pretty …." She smiled softly then and gave his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"And he will probably hate the liquids only …. and then soft foods only diet he will have to be on for the next six to eight weeks. Could be that he won't be very good company to be around for a while." She grinned then.

_**That**_ was probably the biggest understatement of the year ….

"We can give him medication for the pain and we can advise him on what dietary supplements he can take to keep up his strength …. They're generally liquids, easy to swallow but not very filling, and not always very palatable, Steak Diane or cheese burgers they're not …. but they serve their purpose …." She smiled softly again.

"And we will see him again in a few weeks, to release a few of the wires so that he will have a little more movement in his bottom jaw. He will then be able to have something a little more solid .… Soup …. Pureed fruit and vegetables …. That kind of thing …." She smiled again, noting the sour look on the old man's face.

"He might also require a little cosmetic dental work, but all in all …. I would say he came out of it lightly."

"Lightly!" Santini exclaimed incredulously.

"He could have had much more serious injuries, Mr Santini …. Internal injuries. It was quite a significant beating …." She told him candidly now.

"With all the trauma to his head .… There could also have been a skull fracture …. Or some brain injury …. Swelling …."

Amanda Brentwood did not mention to Santini her concerns that the beating had been so concentrated on the young man's face, it had been as though the perpetrators had been trying to obliterate him ….

Who could so hate the younger man that they wanted to destroy is face ….

Still, it wasn't any of her business.

_**It was a pity though …. **_

She had seen the photo on his ID and he had been quite an attractive guy ….

She saw the look of horror on the older man's face then and added quickly.

"But we did an EEG scan and there is nothing like that to worry about …" She told him confidently then.

"He has a mild concussion …. Perhaps a little temporary amnesia … We will know more when he comes out of the anaesthesia …. I'm sure you can understand that he wasn't able to tell us much when he was admitted …. But any memory loss will only be temporary …. And it will pass in time …." She reassured, seeing what little colour was left there, drain out of Santini's face.

"Holy cow …."

"Frankly, Mr Santini, his face is a mess …. But it _**will**_ heal …. There are no other broken facial bones …. It's mostly soft tissue damage …. But just to be on the safe side, I have asked a colleague of mine …. A specialist in plastic surgery and facial reconstructions …. To take a look at him …. When the swelling has gone down. We will get a better idea at that time if there will be any significant scarring …."

"Holy Mowley …." Dominic Santini let out a deep sigh and hung his head briefly, needing to hide his anguish from the pretty redhead.

"Please don't worry yourself, Mr Santini …. Mr Hawke is in good hands with us …. He is also very strong …. Physically …."

"Will he be in here long, Doc?"

"Wait and see …. If he comes out of the surgery well and copes with having his jaw wired closed, then we could be looking at releasing him after a couple of weeks …. But certainly _**not**_ before …. He's had a pretty nasty shock to his system …." She told him with an edge of determination. "He really is in the best place, Mr Santini …."

The old man's expression told her better than any words how deeply upset he was about the whole thing, and that he realised that the longer the younger man was required to stay in hospital, the worse his injuries were ….

"These things take time …. and I would imagine that he will be feeling pretty sore and pretty sorry for himself for quite a while yet …. But he has you to take care of him …. That will make all the difference." She gently rubbed a reassuring hand up and down Dominic Santini's fore arm then.

"How are you holding up, Mr Santini?" She asked in a gentle voice, regarding him with gentle but concerned eyes.

In her professional opinion, he looked like a prime candidate for a coronary …. Poor diet resulting in his being over weight, into his late sixties, sedentary lifestyle with little or no exercise …. Blood pressure probably through the roof ….

And with the added shock of discovering what had happened to his young friend….

He could probably count himself very lucky that he was still standing upright right now ….

"Me? I'm ok …." He suddenly grew bashful, touched by her genuine concern for his wellbeing, unaware of the thoughts running through her mind. "I've had a head cold …. A little fever …. But I was already beginning to feel better …." He told her shyly.

"You've had quite a shock …. It wouldn't hurt to get yourself checked out …. I can arrange it for you …."

"Oh no …. I'm fine …. Really …. Just need a little shuteye …."

"Would you like me to write something up for you …. A mild sedative? It's no trouble …. Really …." She offered.

"No …. I'll be ok …." He assured her, rising suddenly. "Can I see him?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid …." She rose too, sighing softly as she noted the disappointment on his rumpled old face.

"He's going to need very close monitoring throughout the night …." She explained gently, not wanting to add to his anguish.

"There could still be a few …. complications …. due to the concussion …. If he gets sick, we might have to release the wires on his teeth so that he doesn't aspirate …. Choke …. And that will mean that we will then have to take him back into theatre to reset his jaw …." She told him gently.

"Oh my God …."

"I'm not saying it _**will **_happen …. Only that it _**could**_, and we have to watch him carefully …. Best not to get under the nurses feet, eh …." She placed a warm hand on his forearm once again.

"Let him rest …. And you do the same. I have a feeling that he won't give you much peace when he finally does get out of this joint …." She grinned most charmingly then.

"But …." Dominic protested.

"They'll call you if anything changes …." She told him, applying pressure to his forearm now, guiding him toward the elevator. "Goodnight Mr Santini …. It was very nice to meet you …."

She reached out to push the button to summon the elevator and the door opened immediately. Still smiling gently, she gave him a small push toward the open elevator door.

"Drink plenty of fluids and take Vitamin C …." Dominic frowned at her as the door began to close between them. "For the head cold …." She grinned, and it was the last thing Dominic Santini saw as the door closed and the elevator car made a small lurch as it began its downward journey

_**Santini Air Hangar, Van Nuys, California**_

_**Saturday 26**__**th**__** May, 1984 - Mid morning.**_

"So …. what's your take on this?"

Dominic Santini sat at his work bench and watched Michael Coldsmith Briggs III surveying the mess around the hangar.

The government agent, Marella in tow, had turned up ten minutes before, after having visited Stringfellow Hawke in the hospital.

After leaving the hospital in the early hours of that morning, Dominic Santini had returned to the hangar knowing that he had to get the Stearman inside and under lock and key before morning. However, he had been unable to summon the energy or the inclination to tidy up the wreckage of the hangar ….

Although he had forced himself to mop up the blood stains on the concrete floor ….

Unable to bear looking at them ….

Seeing Hawke lying there ….

Recalling that upon first sight, he had thought that the younger man was dead ….

It had been a futile action ….

It hadn't helped ….

Santini suspected that the image would haunt him for the rest of his life ….

Maybe even give him nightmares ….

He had also placed a call to the Firm and left a message for Marella, unaware that Archangel was back from his enforced vacation.

Archangel had called him back within the hour and Dominic had given him as much detail as he knew ….

_**Which didn't amount to a whole lot ….**_

Dominic had then wearily forced himself to go home to his empty house, where he had spent a sleepless night ….

Lying fully clothed on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and remembering key events in his and Hawke's life thus far….

He had come close to losing the young man on a number of occasions ….

Not just to death …

Although, the young Hawke had had more than his fair share of brushes with the Grim Reaper ….

His parents boating accident ….

The car crash that had killed that lovely girl that he had been dating before he went off to war …

The Vietnam War it's self ….

But there had been other things that had threatened to snatch the young man away ….

A fate worse than death ….

To lose himself ….

His very essence ….

To depression ….

Deep, black, destructive and all consuming depression ….

Losing his beloved older brother, St John …. Missing In Action in Vietnam these many years ….

The pain and the grief and the guilt had almost consumed the younger Hawke brother ….

Almost ….

But somehow, despite the odd relapse, and the tendency to face the world with an austere scowl, he had managed to claw his way out of the quagmire of depression ….

Make something of his life ….

And in recent months, Dominic Santini had begun to believe that that was all behind them ….

Thanks mainly to that lovely girl ….

Alex ….

_**Oh dear God ….**_

_**Alex ….**_

It had been then that Dominic had remembered that Hawke had been meant to see her that evening …. Had been meant to meet her for dinner ….

_**Oh God ….**_

_**What must she be thinking, poor kid ….**_

_**He had stood her up ….**_

_**Because, he couldn't deal with her illness ….**_

_**Because he couldn't face the possibility that she might die suddenly too …. Leaving him alone again ….**_

_**Oh Lord …. **_

_**Poor kid ….**_

But Dominic had no idea how to reach her ….

Dammit, at that moment, he couldn't even remember her last name ….

He was so tired, he couldn't think straight ….

However, he had a horrible feeling that Hawke would not want her to see him looking like _**that**_ ….

Especially, if the scars to his face proved to be permanent ….

Hawke would not want to inflict that on her ….

Better to let her think that he was weak ….

Than to worry her ….

Frighten her ….

Invoke her pity ….

_**Damn ….**_

_**Damn String, for playing things so close to his chest ….**_

Why couldn't he be like other guys and bring his girl around for his friends and family to meet ….

The way he acted, anyone would think that the moment he did, someone would wheel him straight off to the nearest looney bin ….

Or straight down the nearest church aisle ….

And now _**he **_was here.

Dominic Santini was so weary and so heartsick, he didn't have the patience to deal with the government agent with much in the way of civility at that moment, but, for String's sake, he knew he had to hold onto his temper …. And try to be civil and co-operative.

"Dominic …." Archangel's voice rose a notch, bringing Dominic Santini back to the present and he frowned at the government agent. "I said …. What is your take on all this …." He waved his silver handled wooden cane around the hangar then, looking stone faced and puzzled, as well as concerned for the older man who looked grey in the face and suddenly very old and very vulnerable ….

Archangel had despatched Marella to check with the neighbours to see if any of them had seen anything suspicious …. Anything helpful ….

"I don't know …." Dominic rubbed absently at his temple as he watched Archangel limp around the hangar. "It looks a whole lot worse than it really is …. Just a whole heap of stuff thrown around …. It don't add up …." He sighed deeply.

Archangel had to agree with him.

_**It didn't add up at all.**_

The severity of the attack on Hawke was one thing ….

The ferocity ….

And the concentration of injuries to his face ….

_**Over kill almost ….**_

Well planned and well executed ….

And pointed to something other than the implied robbery ….

The mess in the hangar was very amateurish and smacked of being a very poor after thought ….

Unconvincing as being made to look like a robbery ….

Even with the damage to the door of the Bell Jet Ranger ….

No ….

Dominic was correct.

It _**didn't**_ add up.

"You've seen him?" Dominic asked now, anxious to know how his young friend was doing.

He had called the hospital first thing that morning and was given the pat answer that Mr Hawke had had a 'comfortable night' ….

However, when he had enquired about visitors, he had been told politely, but firmly, that Mr Hawke was heavily sedated and would not be receiving visitors until tomorrow at the earliest.

However, all Archangel had to do was wave his ID under their noses and they would have rolled out the red carpet for _**him**_ to stroll down ….

Archangel stopped his pacing and turned back to look at Dominic Santini.

The two men had a strange relationship ….

Ragging on each other …. rubbing each other up the wrong way ….

Barely tolerating each other ….

Often times not even speaking to each other ….

But there was no denying that Dominic Santini was a good man with a big, gentle, generous heart ….

And he genuinely cared for Hawke ….

Had supported him and guided him and raised him to be the man that he was ….

The man, incidentally, that Michael Coldsmith Briggs III admired greatly.

And so Dominic was, therefore, no matter how grudgingly …. A man to be respected.

Stringfellow Hawke would not have been able to do half the work for the Firm that he had done in the past few months without Dominic Santini's help ….

They were a team.

Hawke, Airwolf …. _**And**_ Santini ….

"And please don't sugar coat the pill, Michael …." Dominic sighed again now, watching Archangel's face as he tried to decide what to tell the older man.

"You spoke to the surgeon, I understand …." Santini nodded. "And Marella and I spoke to the attending physician, before we went into see him …."

"Just spit it out, Michael …." Dominic was losing patience now.

"He's ….." Archangel sighed expressively. "He looked like hell …." He said matter of factly. "In fact, if I hadn't seen his name on the notes on his bed, I wouldn't have recognised him …. But …." He added hastily. "He _**will**_ be all right …. The prognosis is good …." He assured.

"They have him sedated and hooked up to IV's and monitors right now, but there haven't been any complications and they were talking about reducing the sedation and seeing how he coped with sips of water …. You know, Dominic, I could arrange to have him moved to Knightsbridge …. Their medical facility is second to none …. And he would be easier to protect there …."

"You leave him where he is, Whitey …. I want him where I can see him …."

"Dominic, we wouldn't prevent you from visiting …." Archangel sighed in exasperation, miffed by the implication that once they had Hawke in their clutches they would keep him and maybe work on him to reveal the location of Airwolf ….

"So, what's _**your**_ take on this?" Santini turned the question back on the government agent then.

"I'm not sure …. But I agree that it isn't all that it appears …."

"Something we agree on …. At last …." Dominic rubbed at his temple once again, leaving a smear of black grease on his furrowed brow.

"He …. Hawke …. Hasn't upset anyone lately, has he?" Archangel asked then, regarding Santini with his one good eye. "He hasn't been …." He paused, trying to find a tactful way to put what he wanted to ask. "Paddling …. in someone else's pool …. I know he's been …. Shall we say …. Romantically involved recently …. He hasn't unwittingly …." He clarified, noting the thunderous expression on the older man's face now. "He hasn't stepped on someone's toes …. An angry husband …. Boyfriend …."

"No, of course not …." Santini kept his cool, outraged on Hawke's behalf, but, supposing that under the circumstances, it wasn't such a dumb question ….

Except that Archangel knew Hawke a damned sight better than that.

"I don't know too much about the young lady in question …. Except that it is getting quite serious …. On both sides …."

Archangel arched an eyebrow at this piece of news.

So, Marella's female intuition had been correct after all ….

_**Well, well, well ….**_

"Me …. I think some very nasty people set their hearts on getting certain information out of Hawke …. And he took one helluva beating to protect that secret …."

"I concur …."

"_**What?**_" Santini frowned.

"I agree …."

"Oh …. Well speak the English …."

Archangel took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, knowing that Dominic Santini was still very shocked and upset by recent events and that he should make allowances ….

But it wasn't easy ….

_**Sometimes ….**_

"D G Bogard?" Santini offered.

"Oh no …. Bogard is flying a desk in Baltimore …." Archangel informed succinctly. "I think these fellows came from …. A little further a field …."

"Oh …." Dominic Santini's eyes narrowed then in suspicion. "You know something …." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "Dammit …. You _**know**_ something, Michael …."

"I don't _**know **_anything …. _**For sure**_ …. Snippets of information …. Nothing that amounted to anything …. All I do know is that certain people, who suddenly showed up on the Firm's radar, paid Hawke a visit yesterday …. And left again …. Seemingly, as innocently as they arrived …." Archangel imparted succinctly.

"You were having Hawke _**watched**_?" Dominic Santini regarded him with incredulity.

"No …. Not Hawke …. _**Them **_…. I was having _**them**_ watched …." Archangel confirmed with a sour look.

"Look Dominic …. I acted on certain information received …. But it was nothing specific to Hawke …. Just a hunch I had anyway …. And I can't really be sure that _**this **_incident is down to them …. It could have just been some drugged up junkie looking for money …."

"Baloney …."

"Whatever …." Archangel shrugged and set to pacing up and down again. "I assume …. _**She**_ …. Is safe?"

"My God, Michael …. You really are a piece of …." Dominic noticed Archangel's wince and amended what he was going to say. "Work …. Don't you know by now that Hawke would rather _**die**_ than reveal her location …. He may get a little crazy some times, but he's no traitor …."

"I think he has demonstrated that most effectively after last night, Dominic …. But …. Wouldn't it be prudent to move her …. Just in case …."

"No. She's fine where she is."

"Forgive me, Dominic, but why should I take _**your**_ word for it …."

"Because _**I know**_ String …. And I know he would have died before he told them anything …. The Lady means too much to him …. You know that …."

"All right …. But the first hint of any trouble …."

"Don't threaten me, Michael …."

"I'm _**not**_ threatening you, Dominic, I'm trying to _**help**_ you …."

"Help me …. Where were you when String needed help, huh? Your kind of help I can live without …."

"Dominic …." Archangel paused, reining in his temper. "Is there anything that I can do? For Hawke? For you?"

"Don't call us, we'll call you …."

"All right. Call me …. If you need anything …. _**Anything**_ at all, Dominic …."

Archangel spotted Marella waiting for him in the open hangar doorway now and he began to walk toward her.

"Why do you always assume the worst? Believe it or not, Dominic …. I'm not made of stone …. I admire and respect Hawke a great deal …. I like him …. And whether you believe me or not …. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him …."

He limped off quickly then, slipping inside the pristine white limousine that was parked on the tarmac, and Marella, after giving Dominic Santini a soft, reassuring smile, slipped in beside him and the car pulled away quietly, leaving Dominic Santini alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two.

_**Wednesday 30**__**th**__** May, 1984.**_

_**Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.**_

"Alex …." The word was expelled on a long groan of pain and disorientation.

Stringfellow Hawke sat huddled in the corner of a dark, damp and extremely cold concrete box …. which his captors had the audacity to call his 'home' …. and shivering uncontrollably, came slowly back to wakefulness.

There wasn't much difference between having his eyes open and having them closed ….

Just deep, uninterrupted blackness ….

It didn't really matter that much, because the stuff they kept pumping into his veins made his vision blurred anyway.

Which didn't help with the disorientation that he was feeling ….

Floating ….

Free falling ….

Nothing to anchor him ….

_**He really didn't know which way was up ….**_

Lord, but he was cold ….

The fatigues they had grudgingly allowed him were thin summer issue, threadbare and shrunk through over laundering and the pant legs were way too short, revealing calves and bare feet. Not for him the luxury of shoes and socks ….

He couldn't remember where he had been, or what he had been doing ….

He couldn't remember how he had gotten here ….

All he could remember was a white light shining incessantly in his eyes and the same monotone voice drilling into his brain ….

And another noise ….

Except that he wasn't hearing it with his ears …. But inside his head ….

Pounding away ….

Buzzing infuriatingly like a bee trapped inside his brain ….

Everything was just a fuzzy muddle, all jumbled together …..

He wasn't sure what was real ….

Or what was induced by the stuff they kept jabbing into his arm ….

_**Man what was that stuff ….**_

Whatever it was, they were feeding it to him like candy to a baby ….

Making the world a terrifying place that refused to stay still and focused ….

At times his perception was so clear it was painful ….

And then at other times, it was like wading through marshmallow ….

It was getting harder and harder to separate out what was real and what was a manifestation of the drug ….

_**Except the pain.**_

_**Oh yes ….**_

_**That**_ wasn't a dream.

His head ….

His chest ….

His groin ….

Belly ….

Wrists ….

Ankles ….

Nose ….

The drug certainly didn't inhibit his ability to feel pain ….

Hard to breathe through his nose …. He realised now ….

He was having to draw in oxygen through his mouth …. And now that some semblance of awareness was returning, he could detect a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth ….

Blood ….

Hardly daring to move because of the pain, he carefully lifted his stiff, swollen, trembling, fingers up to his nose and felt dried blood crusted around his nostrils and upper lip ….

A dribble which had run down his rough, unshaven chin ….

That answered that question ….

Busted.

Nose ….

Definitely ….

Another reason why he couldn't focus properly and his eyes kept watering ….

Fingers ….

Probably ….

Like practically every other bone in his body ….

At least that was what it felt like.

Or maybe that was just made to feel worse by the cold.

He doubted that anything was really broken ….

After all, they were meant to be taking _**extra special**_ care of him ….

They seemed to be concentrating their efforts on inflicting as much pain as they could ….

But only on soft tissue ….

Especially his belly and his back ….

And places that were most delicate …. Most sensitive to pain because the pain receptors were close to the surface of the skin ….

Backs of hands ….

Soles of feet ….

Other places that a gentleman just didn't talk about in public ….

Obviously, he had passed out from the pain ….

Not before time too ….

They hadn't allowed him to sleep ….

Not proper, restful sleep ….

Just a few snatched naps ….

Trying to weaken him both physically and mentally ….

Someone delivering yet another blow to some part of his anatomy every time it looked like he might be succumbing to sleep …

So it stood to reason that that was why he found himself back here.

_**Home sweet home ….**_ He thought sourly.

Then winced as another, new pain registered in his brain ….

Lower back ….

Kidney punch ….

_**Oh yes ….**_

_**The big guy with the ugly mug …. And a total sense of humour failure ….**_

_**Yeah a real laugh riot ….**_

_**Oh God ….**_

_**What he wouldn't give for a little of Dom's caterwauling …. Mangling Italian Opera …. Right now ….**_

It was starting to coming back …. slowly ….

Snatches of memories …. here and there …. Bits and pieces ….

Memories? Or dreams?

He couldn't be sure …. His memory no longer a thing he could rely on implicitly.

But there were some things he was still sure of ….

Because he associated them with pain ….

He remembered now ….

They had shot about a zillion volts of electricity through him too ….

Just for good measure ….

There was another thing that he found disconcerting ….

He was losing track of time too ….

He had no idea how long he had been here ….

Didn't know what time of day it was ….

What day of the week it was ….

Days and nights merged endlessly into each other ….

He let out another low groan as he hung his head briefly.

How in the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?

More to the point ….

_**How was he going to get himself out of it ….**_

Nobody worth a damn even knew that he was here ….

That he wasn't still fixing the Stearman back at the hangar ….

The _**other**_ guy ….

The guy with _**his**_ face ….

The guy living _**his life**_ …. Back there in LA ….

Nobody would suspect ….

If they did nothing but _**look**_ at him that was, he told himself sternly.

_**Dom ….**_

Dom would know ….

_**Wouldn't he?**_

It just couldn't be that easy ….

_**Could it?**_

For someone else to simply step into _**his**_ life ….

_**His **_shoes ….

Assume _**his **_persona ….

Pick up the threads of _**his**_ life …. without causing the slightest ripple of suspicion ….

Just because he had _**that**_ face ….

_**His**_ face ….

He recalled it now ….

The last image burned into his brain before he had succumbed to the powerful effects of the drug ….

Looming over him ….

Looking in to his eyes ….

With eyes that were just as blue ….

But completely devoid of life ….

Wasn't there more to him than just a face?

_**Sure ….**_

And surely someone who knew him well would be able to recognise that the other man simply wasn't him ….

_**Oh sure ….**_

_**Dammit ….**_

He should have been more careful ….

More suspicious ….

_**Damn.**_

_**Damn.**_

_**Damn.**_

It couldn't be _**that**_ easy ….

Not unless the Russians had somehow managed to make the other man sound like him ….

_**Act like him ….**_

He let out another low groan.

You could be sure that they would have covered every eventuality …. Every possible pitfall ….

What was _**he**_ doing now?

The man with _**his**_ face, living _**his**_ cosy life ….

Kidding around with Dom ….

Fishing in the lake ….

Making love to Alex ….

_**No ….**_

_**Don't go there ….**_

But no matter how hard he tried ….

He couldn't shake the picture out of his mind ….

_**Alex ….**_

So warm ….

So loving ….

So passionate ….

He closed his eyes against the images swimming around before him, but the only thing that changed was the degree of darkness …. From a deep smoky, shadowy black to an impenetrable, uniform black ….

Making him feel queasy as the room span around him.

_**Stop that ….**_

_**Right now.**_

It wouldn't do him any good.

_**That**_ would be a worse torture than anything that the Russians could come up with ….

_**Picturing her entwined in his arms ….**_

His own damned imagination ….

Surprisingly vivid ….

He could feel her warm, slender body in his arms ….

Snuggling into him as she slept ….

Smell her perfume ….

The scent of her freshly washed hair ….

Tears pricked at his eyes then and he let out another low moan of anguish.

Dammit ….

_**God, I love you, Alex, but you have to get out of my head ….**_

No ….

_**Wait ….**_

He mustn't think about her …. At least not with _**him**_ ….

But, dammit ….

Maybe thinking about Alex was exactly what he needed to do to get through this ordeal ….

Thinking about her lovely face ….

That beautiful smile ….

The heart melting way she had of looking deeply into his eyes, that made his knees buckle ….

The way she had felt in his arms when they had danced ….

Kissed ….

Made love ….

The laughter they had shared ….

Her wicked sense of humour, totally English and eccentric …. The zany, cockeyed way she looked at the world …..

Her bravery ….

Her determination not to let a life threatening brain injury stop her from _**really**_ living ….

How much he loved her ….

And he surely did ….

And what a wonderful wife she would make ….

Loving and supportive …. The perfect companion for the rest of his life ….

Their lives together ….

Mrs Alexandra Hawke ….

It had a wonderful ring to it as he kept it running through his mind like a mantra ….

She wanted to know how he felt …. How committed he was to their relationship ….

Well, he planned to show her exactly how he felt as soon as he got the hell out of here and back to the US ….

_**If he thought about all those things ….**_

It might even help him to endure this ….

May just keep him alive and coherent long enough to figure out how he was going to get out of this hellhole ….

One small piece of reality that they couldn't deny him ….

An anchor ….

It wasn't hard to picture her face ….

A beautiful smile on her lips and so much love in her dark eyes ….

_**I love you, Alex ….**_

_**Thank you for that precious gift ….**_

_**The gift of really living again ….**_

His only real regret ….

That he hadn't had a chance to tell her how he _**really**_ felt ….

That it didn't matter if they only had a few hours together ….

They could and _**would**_ pack a lifetime's worth of loving into the time they were allowed ….

_**I love you, Alex ….**_

_**Thank you …. for loving me too …**_

_**I'll be seeing you ….. **_He vowed, silently to himself, trying to remember the lyrics to the tune they had danced so sublimely to ….

Recalling the conversation he had had with Alex about Dominic's opinion of his singing ….

And suddenly, he found himself smiling through his tears as he clearly heard Alex's voice, edged with laughter, in his head, encouraging him, telling him that if he sang badly enough, maybe, just maybe, the Russians would throw him out, just to get a little peace ….

And he suddenly found himself laughing out loud ….

Wondering just when exactly he had made the decision to marry Alex …. But not really caring ….

It was the right decision ….

And he could hardly wait to get home to her and make it a reality ….

_**I love you my darling …. And I will be seeing you …. Real soon ….**_

_**Friday 8**__**th**__** June, 1984.**_

_**Park High School - Morning Recess.**_

Fighting to hold back the tears, Alexandra Beecham made her way to the ladies room and shut herself in a stall.

As she expected, just a few seconds after her, she heard the outer door open and another person enter the washroom.

"Alex …. Honey …." Sophie Rutherford's soft, concerned voice wafted over the top of the stall. "What did I say?" She asked with genuine anxiety in her voice.

Poor Sophie ….

_**She had no idea ….**_

And dammit ….

Alexandra knew that she shouldn't be so damned sensitive ….

After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't known that this could happen ….

Better that she had found out now ….

Before things had gotten out of hand.

_**Damn him.**_

"Honey …. What's wrong? Did I put my big foot in it again?"

Sophie had been chatting with her in the teachers lounge, over coffee, and she had quite innocently asked if she had seen Stringfellow Hawke lately.

Without warning, Alex had felt her heart constrict in her chest and tears well up in her eyes, and she had found herself dashing out of the teachers lounge and heading for the ladies room, before she made a complete fool of herself in front of her colleagues.

"Oh no …. I did, didn't I …. I'm sorry honey …."

"It's all right, Sophie …." Alex sniffed, dashing away fresh tears as they trickled down her pale cheeks and joined together to drip off her chin.

"Hawke …." Sophie said scornfully now. "This is to do with Stringfellow Hawke …." She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, honey …. I took a chance introducing the two of you …. But …. I thought you were perfect for each other …. Two lonely people …."

"Don't, Sophie, don't you dare apologise …. This has nothing to do with your introducing us."

No, this was all down to Hawke's own fair hand ….

_**And her own.**_

After all ….

She had been the one to give him the get-out he had probably been looking for all along ….

"I thought you two were hitting it off …. You've been so happy lately …."

"We were …." Alex confessed at last, taking a handful of toilet tissue and blowing her nose noisily.

"Oh …." Sophie sounded surprised. "So what happened?"

"Cold feet …. The worst case of cold feet in history …." Alex sighed, wadding the used tissue and dropping it into the toilet bowl before flushing.

"Care to fill me in?" Sophie asked softly. "Hawke never struck me as the type to balk at the idea of a little romance …."

"Nor me …. I guess we live and learn …." Sophie could hear the anger and bitterness in Alexandra's tone now and frowned.

"Are you coming out of there, so I can see your face when I speak to you …."

Alexandra drew back the bolt on the stall door and emerged with her head held high, heading for the nearest sink, where she ran cold water into her hands and splashed it carefully over her flushed face.

"What happened, Alex?" Sophie came up behind her now and placed a soothing hand on her narrow shoulder. "It was all going so well …. I really thought …."

"So did I …." Alexandra's voice was barely audible, and fresh tears were immediately swimming in her dark eyes.

"Oh love …. C'mon, tell Sophie …."

"I told him, Sophie …. I told him about my …. Problem …." Alex confessed raggedly on a gulping sob.

"The epilepsy?" Alex nodded. "And?"

"And at first he was a little overwhelmed, but then I thought he was starting to handle it …. Accept it …."

"Well honey, I never did believe that he would have a problem with it …." Sophie confided. "He's a pretty sensible and level headed kind of guy …. I just knew if you gave him a chance, he would take it in his stride …. So what happened?"

"I don't know …. I haven't seen him for almost two weeks now …. Haven't spoken to him since he called to tell me his friend Dominic Santini was sick and that his workload was piling up …. I was snowed under too, preparing tests for my class and grading papers, and I thought that by giving him just a little more time …. He would have answers for me …. The _**right **_answers …." She explained vaguely, gulping down another sob. "We were meant to go to dinner two weeks ago tonight …. But he never showed …."

"And he hasn't called you?" Alex shook her head, bending over the sink to splash more cold water on her overheated face. "Have you tried calling him?"

"Of course I have …." She responded impatiently. "The number he gave me just keeps ringing out …."

"And what about Dominic Santini, did you try calling him?"

"I'm not even sure he would know who I am if I did call him …. I don't think String has told him that much about me …. You know what a very private man Hawke is …."

"Well you don't have to tell him who you are, dummy …. Call and ask for Hawke …. Make up some excuse about wanting flying lessons …." Sophie grinned conspiratorially then.

"I think it's obvious why I haven't heard from him …. He can't handle it, Sophie …. He's avoiding me …. Because he can't face me and tell me that he is a weak coward …."

"Now wait just a minute, love …." Sophie bristled, after all, Stringfellow Hawke was her friend too. "Not turning up for a date is hardly the crime of the century …. But it isn't something that Stringfellow Hawke would do …. Not without a damned good reason …."

"Then why didn't he call me …."

"Maybe he had to go out of town …. That flying job of his takes him all over you know …. Maybe Dominic Santini was sicker than he thought …. Maybe he got sick himself …. Maybe he went back to his cabin …. I don't think there's a phone up there …. To recuperate …. Or maybe they had to go on location …. Flying stunts for some movie he forgot to mention …."

Alexandra was touched that Sophie could make up so many excuses for Hawke, to try to make her feel better, but she knew in her heart that she was right ….

_**Hawke couldn't hack it …. **_

And he hadn't the guts to come and tell her to her face.

"Don't give up on him just yet, honey …. I'll get Bob to give him a call .… We never did make good on our invitation to dinner …. It's high time I put that right …."

"No, Sophie …. This is between the two of us …. Please stay out of it …."

Alex turned off the cold water faucet then and pulled down a handful of paper towels to dab her wet face with.

"Maybe I've had a lucky escape …." She drew in a ragged breath then, straightened her shoulders and back and regarded Sophie Rutherford with steady brown eyes. "Maybe he's not the man I thought he was …."

She made her exit out of the ladies room with as much dignity as she could muster, leaving Sophie Rutherford frowning at her departing back.

What was the girl talking about ….

_**Lucky escape ….**_

_**Not the man she thought he was ….**_

And what the devil was Hawke playing at ….

Oh ….

_**They were both such children ….**_

It would all turn out to be a misunderstanding ….

A storm in a teacup, Sophie was sure, for she knew it as a truth in her heart that no two people had more right to be together than Hawke and Alexandra ….

No matter what the girl said, Sophie knew that the first thing she was going to do when she got home that evening was to get Bob to call Hawke ….

And if he couldn't get Hawke, she would have him call Dominic Santini …. And keep making a nuisance of himself until he got some sense out of one of them ….

She was determined to get to the bottom of this.

For she felt sure that there was more to all of this than met the eye ….

She had seen her young colleague and friend fall head over heels in love with a good man ….

Yes …. a man who had a painful past ….

A man who yearned for and deserved the kind of unconditional love that Alex Beecham had to offer.

Sophie suspected Alexandra Beecham also had pain in her past, some tragedy that she was, even to this day, unable to bring herself to speak about, but which sometimes made its self known in her dark eyes ….

Sophie had seen the girl open her heart ….

Open up to life and love and happiness like a flower ….

And she had heard wedding bells in the air, and nothing was going to deny her the happy ending she knew these two wonderful people deserved ….


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

_**Sunday 10**__**th**__** June, 1984.**_

_**Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.**_

Dr Yana Petrova watched with barely concealed horror as a man was bodily dragged into the cell between two bulky male orderlies, forced into the old fashioned leather seat and roughly strapped in.

She hadn't been here very long, and the degree of roughness with which they appeared to treat all the subjects had shocked her ….

But this man's treatment was even rougher than anything she had already witnessed ….

Especially as it appeared that the man had neither the strength, nor the desire to resist them or fight back ….

She had been ordered to check the already prepared syringe, sitting in the kidney dish on her trolley, to make sure that the dosage was correct …. While the guards went to fetch the prisoner ….

An extremely high dose, in her opinion, of a drug she knew to be extremely dangerous and damaging ….

_**GKP**_….

Still very experimental ….

And toxic to both the mind and the body ….

To her horror, she had also seen the electrical generator in the corner of the room, and the wires trailing behind the chair ….

Making it obvious that the power would not solely be used to fire up the projector, which was also positioned behind the chair.

However, because she was so new to the facility and Petrova was aware that they were regarding her with undisguised suspicion, she had had to hide her contempt and temper her curiosity, while surreptitiously watching the proceedings without drawing attention to herself.

The man was a poor, bedraggled looking creature ….

Half starved, clothes, thin summer fatigues, she noted, in tatters and absolutely filthy ….

Eyes, red rimmed and pupils so dilated it was hard to see the colour of the irises ….

Blue ….

Yes ….

Although she had had to look really hard to be able to tell ….

And surrounded by dark, bluish circles that indicated sleep deprivation ….

He also had bruises standing out livid, around his nose and cheek bones, indicating that he had taken a blow there recently ….

And around the outside of his left eye ….

Although these were older and beginning to fade now.

Hair longer than any military buzz cut she had ever witnessed and unkempt, sticking up in a wild cowlick in back …. and a thick bluish growth of stubble on his chin ….

But there was something about those piercing blue eyes that warmed Petrova's heart.

Gave her hope ….

A fire ….

Burning brightly.

A determination to fight ….

A strong will to live ….

It said '_**you can't touch me …'**_

_**You can't reach me …. **_

_**Because I'm not really here ….**_

They may break him physically and mentally ….

But they would never break his spirit ….

They would never really reach into the depths of his soul ….

"Doctor …." One of the men, a Captain, she noted from his epaulettes and insignia …. prompted her now and she realised that she had been staring.

Oh no ….

Her heart sank ….

_**Him again ….**_

It was the same man, she now realised, who, only the day before, had made a rather clumsy pass at her in the corridor as she had exited one of the other cells.

Gregorovich ….

Captain Uri Gregorovich …. Special Ops ….

She had learned later from one of her colleagues, Sasha, a young nurse based in the main infirmary, when they had shared lunch in the mess hall ….

A notorious womaniser ….

And now, it seemed, he was interested in her ….

Probably because she was new blood ….

A challenge.

_**Damn.**_

She had politely, but firmly made it clear to him that she was not interested, but from the hungry way he was looking at her now, she sincerely doubted that he was the sort to take a polite no for an answer ….

_**Damn ….**_

_**That was all she needed.**_

She lowered her eyes demurely, by way of an apology to the Captain and turning back to the tray of instruments laid out on a trolley in the corner of the room, she carefully picked up the syringe she had prepared and applied pressure to the plunger, forcing a small squirt of the liquid out of the other end into a wad of cotton wool ….

She might have to witness the atrocities they were about to inflict on this man, but she didn't have to contribute to them ….

She had noted from the brief case notes that they were making on Prisoner Z, as she had entered the date, time and dose of drug she was about to administer, as per instructions from the senior doctor in charge of the project, Dr Dimitriov, they had been upping the dose of the drug every day for the past week, no doubt hoping for quicker results ….

She had also noted that none of the other subjects she had been required to attend to were being given doses of GKP anywhere near this strength or with this frequency.

There was something very different about this prisoner ….

The rough way they were treating him …. Keeping him isolated …. The dose of GKP they were pumping into him every twelve hours or so ….

Something set him apart from the other poor souls incarcerated here ….

But she had no idea what it could be, and there was no way she was going to draw attention to herself by asking ….

Either they weren't aware of the side effects of the drug ….

Or they just didn't care ….

Either way ….

This poor guy was in serious trouble ….

_**Well …. **_

_**Not today, Comrade ….**_

_**Today, you get a reprieve ….**_

She would not actively participate in his deterioration.

No-one would check that she had given him the ordered dose anyway ….

No way to tell once it was administered ….

The correct amount missing from the vile still laid out on the trolley ….

She was the only medical doctor in the room ….

The other men in white coats who would shortly be arriving to continue the procedure were psychiatrists and behavioural scientists ….

Egg heads.

That much she had managed to glean since her arrival.

And if he didn't respond in the way they anticipated ….

It would be a simple matter to write up orders that he be given a stronger dose next time ….

_**And in the mean time ….**_

_**He would have time to recover …. **_

_**Just a little ….**_

Carrying the syringe, in a stainless steel kidney dish, over to the patient, Petrova carried out the required physical examination, to determine his fitness to continue with the procedure, noting even as she did so that the man seemed not to even have noticed her presence in the room ….

He was still in quite good physical shape ….

Although, almost fourteen days of short rations, and no exercise hadn't done much for his stamina and strength.

His temperature was normal and he had a good strong heart beat and pulse, and his blood pressure was remarkably low considering what he had been subjected to.

Regrettably, she had no choice but to agree that he was fit to continue, and quickly administered the smaller dose of the required drug before walking back to the trolley and wheeling it toward the door, where the man who had caught her staring stopped her from leaving by stepping in front of her and blocking her way.

"You are new here …."

"Yes, Comrade Captain …." She recognised the gleam of interest in his eyes then and again her heart sank.

"You will find, Comrade Doctor, that it is better for everyone, if you do not take too much of an interest in your patients …. If your heart …. Or your stomach are not strong enough to face the work …. You could find yourself transferred to some gulag in Outer Mongolia …."

He sneered, although his words and his attitude were in complete contradiction to his body language and what she could clearly see in his cold, reptilian like eyes ...

"Now get out of here …. And forget what you have seen here today …."

_**Gladly, Comrade …. **_Petrova thought silently to herself ….

_**Gladly …**_

_**This was the stuff nightmares were made of ….**_

_**If she let it get to her …..**_

Even as Petrova nodded shyly and set about pushing the trolley toward the door, one of the guards delivered a vicious blow to the prisoner's stomach, and he instantly folded in on himself, body absorbing the blow, as much as the restraints would allow.

As she waited for the guard in the corridor outside to open the door for her, out of the corner of her eye, Petrova watched as the man, breathing hard, straightened up slowly ….

And there was a smile on his face ….

_**A beautiful smile ….**_

And an expression on his face that told her that his mind was very far away from the reality that his body was facing ….

_**He was feeling no pain ….**_

_**Not in that deep dark place where his soul and his spirit dwelt ….**_

And she found that she was pleased for him ….

However he was protecting himself mentally, she applauded his ingenuity …. And wished him the very best of luck ….

Because he was going to need it.

She had no idea what they were preparing him for ….

But it was clear to her that they fully intended to break him ….

One way or another ….

And she had no doubt that, eventually, their will would be done ….

Their goal achieved ….

And his true self would be lost to him forever ….

However, she had an altogether different kind of problem ….

The Captain ….

_**Damn.**_

Oh well ….

She would find some way to deal with his unwanted advances ….

She had had to do it before ….

At least this time, she had Mischa, in the background ….

If Captain Gregorovich got a bit too frisky, she would wheel Mischa out and let him have a quiet word ….

But before she resorted to that, she knew a few moves of her own ….

However, having options was another advantage to not working alone on this mission ….

_**Whatever the hell this mission turned out to be ….**_

And if Mischa's Wildman appearance didn't intimidate the good Comrade Captain ….

_**Well, there was always Plan B.**_

There always was a Plan B ….

No matter how distasteful ….

However, the Captain's interest in her was a complication that they didn't need ….

It meant that she could not be as inconspicuous as she had intended ….

_**Damn him ….**_

She was already limited to where she could go and what she could see.

Now she would have to be even more careful ….

_**Oh why couldn't anything in this life be simple ….**_

Because if it was ….

She would be doing something else to induce the adrenalin rush that she thrived on ….

For now she just had to hope that she could keep out of the Captain's way and stay under his radar ….

And then maybe, she might just have a chance to find out more about what the hell was going on here ….

The sooner she did that, the sooner she and Mischa would be out of there and maybe on their way back to the States for some much needed R & R.

_**Monday 11**__**th**__** June, 1984.**_

_**Park High School, Los Angeles – Lunch Recess.**_

Alexandra Beecham sat by the window in the teachers lounge, watching the students milling about in the yard outside, her thoughts going back to the day, not so long ago, when the huge, noisy and extremely beautiful Huey Helicopter had landed in the yard and the kids had all marvelled at it ….

And she had marvelled at how little the very handsome and very dashing pilot had changed, since the last time she had seen him.

Funny how quickly things changed.

After her conversation with Sophie Rutherford on Friday, Alex had spent a restless weekend, toying with the idea of calling up Santini Air with the excuse of speaking to Stringfellow Hawke about flying lessons ….

Yet, every time she reached out for the telephone ….

Something stopped her.

In her heart, Alex knew that it would not be fair to put Hawke on the spot, especially not at his work place, where he would be observed by his colleague ….

His friend ….

No matter how painful it might be ….

Wasn't it better to leave things as they were ….

A clean break ….

She didn't really want to hear how _**hard **_it was for him ….

How _**painful**_ it would be for him to lose another woman that he loved ….

However he chose to justify his decision ….

_**Didn't he know how hard it was for her too ….**_

Put on the spot, he might say something that he would later regret but could not take back ….

He might say something that she could never forgive …

He might even lie ….

To try to make things easier for her ….

Try to hurt her and drive her away ….

By telling her that he had _**never**_ loved her at all ….

_**And never could ….**_

_**That it had just been a bit of fun to him ….**_

_**A fling ….**_

It was the sort of thing that he would do ….

Hoping to spare her the deeper pain of knowing that he could not take a chance and accept that one day her life would end …. Prematurely ….

And she could not bear that ….

Better to walk away now, and keep her precious memories in tact ….

She had passed the weekend on an emotional roller coaster, weeping one minute, laughing out loud at some memory that popped into her head when she least expected it the next ….

Torturing herself by playing over and over again, the cassette tape of love songs that she had put together to give to him ….

Originally intended as a silly joke, that would, nevertheless, leave him in now doubt about her feelings for him ….

However, it had proved cathartic ….

She had no more tears left to cry ….

And this morning, as she had gotten out of bed and headed for the shower, she had made a decision ….

It was over.

Time to forgive and forget ….

Time to move on.

She loved Stringfellow Hawke ….

She always would.

And he was not to be blamed for not being able to love her enough ….

He was to be pitied ….

For he would never know the kind of happiness that they could have shared …. if he could not move beyond the tragedies that had already coloured his life.

And Alexandra Beecham refused to be another one of those tragedies.

As she cast her eyes around the room, biting into her sandwich lunch, Sophie Rutherford came bustling into the teachers lounge, heading straight for her, wearing such a strange look on her face, Alex wondered what was afoot.

"There you are …. I'm sorry, honey, I've been trying to get you by yourself all morning …." Sophie said breathlessly, pulling up a chair beside Alex.

"I wasn't hiding, Sophie …." Alex smiled benignly.

"Now, honey …." Sophie reached out and laid a soothing hand on Alex's wrist just as she was about to raise her sandwich to take another bite, and Alex frowned at her colleague, wondering what had put that serious look on her dear face. "I don't want you to worry, but …."

_**Oh terrific ….**_

_**Why do people always say things like that ….**_

_**Didn't they know it was practically guaranteed to get the heart racing and the nerves jangling ….**_

"What is it?"

_**Oh God …. **_

_**The kids ….**_

_**Had something awful happened to another one of her kids ….**_

"What? What is it?" She demanded, her eyes suddenly big and dark and anxious in her pale face as she turned to scan the schoolyard outside the window …. Not immediately seeing anything that should concern her ….

"Hawke …." Sophie told her in a soft, motherly voice, touching her arm lightly to draw back her gaze. "He's all right …." She assured as Alex turned back to look at her with dark anxious eyes, seeming to think that that was the most important thing to impart.

"There was some trouble at the place where he works …. A robbery …. Anyway, String was quite badly beaten …."

"What?" Alex gasped. "When?"

"That Friday night he didn't show up for your dinner date …." Sophie confided.

"_**Oh my God ….**_"

"I know you told me to keep out of it, but I couldn't, love …. I just couldn't …. I care for you both and I knew that something just wasn't right. Stringfellow Hawke is an old fashioned gentleman. He would _**never **_let a lady down …. Especially not one he loves …. I knew that he would have contacted you, if he could …."

"So I goaded Bob all weekend until he finally gave in and called Hawke, Sunday night …. But he couldn't get any answer either. He didn't have Dominic Santini's home number, but he did have the number at the hangar, so I made him promise that he would call Dominic this morning …. Bob got the whole story out of him …. And then Bob called me here, left a cryptic message, which I have just picked up from Mrs Bartlett …. And I called him back a few minutes ago …."

Alex dropped her sandwich onto her plate and stared at Sophie Rutherford in wide eyed horror.

_**How could she have been so wrong ….**_

_**How could she have doubted him ….**_

_**How could she have been so wide of the mark ….**_

_**So quick to judge him ….**_

Why the hell hadn't she realised that it would take something like that to have stopped him from making contact with her ….

_**Why the hell hadn't she trusted him more.**_

She _**knew **_that he loved her.

_**Hadn't he told her enough times ….**_

And hadn't he _**shown **_her too ….

He'd just been respecting her wishes by going away and thinking over what she had told him, for his every word and every deed on that last Sunday, had told her more plainly than any heart to heart, just how much he loved her ….

_**That last kiss ….**_

_**She had known ….**_

Known that his heart had indeed made that wonderful leap of faith ….

And that his head had followed ….

She had known that it was all going to be all right ….

But she hadn't wanted to spoil things for him ….

Let him have his moment of glory ….

_**Bless him ….**_

"Alex …."

"Tell me everything, Sophie …. I need to know …."

"Oh love, don't sit there beating yourself up …. You weren't to know …." Sophie patted her hand gently.

"Yes I was …. I should have _**known**_ that something was wrong …. I should have trusted my intuition …. I _**knew**_ he cared …. I _**knew**_ he loved me …. I _**knew**_ in my heart that my epilepsy wasn't going to be a problem for him …. I _**knew**_ it Sophie, so why was I so quick to doubt him …. judge him …."

"Stop that, honey …. The most important thing is that he will be all right, and the two of you will get the chance to kiss and make up …." Sophie Rutherford smiled shyly then.

"Tell me …. All of it …." Alex implored.

"Well, he's in the hospital …. Still …. He has a fractured jaw, which they have had to wire together …." Sophie winced at the thought.

"So he's had to stay in longer than they first thought …."She continued after Alex continued to regard her with shocked, but imploring eyes.

"Most of the damage seems to have been to his face, love …. He doesn't have any other broken bones and no internal injuries …. Just the fractured jaw …. A mild concussion and a little temporary amnesia …." Sophie recounted what her husband had just told her over the telephone, quite obviously shaken by what Dominic Santini had told him.

"Oh my God …. Why didn't someone call me?" Alex realised that she was echoing words that Hawke had said to her, not so long ago ….

When she had told him about that night in the lab back at Red Star ….

"Well, obviously, Hawke can't actually speak at the moment …" Sophie told her gently. "But, like you said, String hadn't told Dominic Santini that much about you, and Dominic didn't know how to reach you …. String prefers to keep his personal and his professional life separate, so Santini also suspected that you wouldn't call the hangar to find out what had happened either …."

"I have to see him …."

"No, love …."Sophie stilled Alex as she made to rise from her seat. "Dominic just told Bob that the hospital have been screening Hawke's visitors, trying to keep him quiet …. Hawke doesn't have any family, so they were only letting Santini in, and then only for a few minutes at a time." She explained in a low whisper, aware that their conversation was now drawing curious glances from the other staff members eating their lunch in the teachers lounge.

"But Dominic just told Bob that they are thinking of letting him out of the hospital at the end of next week, and Santini told Bob that although he won't be able to fly, he's still going to have to take Hawke to the hangar with him, so that he can keep an eye on him …. He also told Bob that Hawke doesn't seem to remember much of anything …. I doubt he would know who you were if you turned up to see him …."

Sophie watched as tears shimmered in the younger woman's eyes then, hating to be so blunt, but wanting her young friend to fully understand what the man she loved was going through …. and wished that there was something more that she could do to comfort her.

"Bob mentioned to Dominic that you were an acquaintance of ours, and that he also knew that you and Hawke were friends …. So he asked if you could stop by some time, that he knew that you would be worried about String …. But Santini told him that he didn't think that you ought to see Hawke like that …. That you might find it too upsetting …. That he didn't think that Hawke would _**want **_you to see him like that …."

"But …. I should be with him …. I should be there for him …. I don't care what he looks like, Sophie …. I love him …. He _**needs**_ to _**know**_ that …." Alex protested.

"I know, love …." Sophie sighed softly then. "It all sounds a bit …. Odd …. To me too, but that could just be the way that Bob was telling it …. He sounded terribly upset and shocked you know, poor dear …. He and Hawke go back a long way …. It probably feels strange to him that the young man came through 'Nam with barely a scratch, only to almost lose his life in his workplace, protecting Dominic Santini's assets …." She sighed again.

"They get very protective …. Guys …. At times like this …." She explained. "Guys who have fought together …. Stood together and watched other men die …. They close ranks …. I've seen it before, love …. You just have to give them time to get it out of their systems …." She advised sagely.

"I know you want to be with him …. It's natural, and very commendable …. But right now, it seems that it might do more harm than good …. Hawke might not know you, and that will only upset you …. And him …. more …. Surely it's better to wait …. Wait for his memory to return …. Wait for the right moment …."

Alexandra knew that Sophie was right, but she also knew that her place was at Hawke's side ….

Then, incomprehensibly, a shudder ran down her spine ….

_**Moffett ….**_

_**Is this your doing you old bastard ….**_

No ….

No …. it couldn't be ….

Hawke had told her that he was dead ….

Had assured her that he was dead ….

And he should know ….

He was the one who had ended that miserable, sordid, despicable, disgusting, depraved and sick existence ….

"Do they know what happened …. Who did this to him?"

"No, love …. I guess its just one of those crazy, nonsensical things that just happen …. Some crazed junkie looking for money …. Something to sell …. The only thing on his mind, his next fix …. not the harm that he could be doing to another human being … a man's livelihood …." She squeezed Alex's arm gently then. "Who knows what goes through a man's mind when he is driven like that …. I guess String just got in his way …." She smiled weakly then.

"You know String would do anything to protect Dominic Santini …. He loves him like a father …. And they have plenty of expensive movie equipment and vintage plane parts lying around that hangar …. I guess anyone who was desperate enough would think that they could find something to sell on …."

Alex nodded weakly.

She knew what Dominic Santini meant to Stringfellow Hawke ….

"Will you be all right, love?" Sophie asked now, all her concern for the pale young woman seated beside her, in abject misery.

"Yes …. I guess I have to be .…" Alex assured, noting the look on her friend's face and interpreting it correctly …. She wasn't just talking about her emotional state, and they both knew it. "I'm fine, Sophie …. Really …. Besides, I have classes this afternoon …."

"You could always tell the Principle you were sick …."

"And then what would I do, Sophie? I'd just go home and worry myself sick …. You're right, I can't do anything to help yet …. So I guess all I can do is just carry on as normal, and wait for String to contact me …. come to me …."

"Better not be on your own tonight, eh? Why don't you come home with me after school …. Stay to dinner. I'm sure Bob would love to tell you all about the time he spent in 'Nam with String …."

"Thanks …." Alex acquiesced.

It was the last thing that she really wanted, but she thought that she might find some comfort in sharing the memories with someone who knew Hawke well, and cared for him too.

"That's settled then, I'll meet you here …."

"Ok …. And Sophie …. Thanks …."

"Sometimes, love …. Being an interfering old brick bat pays off …." Sophie chuckled softly and gave her young friend a quick hug. "I haven't known you as long as I have known Hawke …. Well …. as well as anyone _**can**_ know Hawke that is …. But I knew straight away that you were right for each other …. That he would be good for you and that you would be good for him too …. You wait and see …. It will all turn out right in the end …. It's not just fairy tales that have happy ever after endings, you know …. I found my Prince Charming …. And I think you know that you have too …."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four.

_**Santini Air Hangar, Van Nuys Airport, California.**_

_**Friday, 6**__**th**__** July, 1984 - Late afternoon.**_

Wincing, Dominic Santini closed his eyes against the sight before him ….

That being his young friend, Stringfellow Hawke, struggling to suck tepid coffee up through a straw ….

And all the metal work he was now sporting in his mouth.

It was painful to watch ….

Actually, it was pitiful to watch ….

It was like an advanced warning of what the poor guy would be like in his dotage ….

Also reminding Santini himself, that he would get there long before Hawke ….

The younger man had been home from the hospital for two weeks now, and if Santini were honest with himself, he didn't look a whole lot better than he had when he had been admitted there.

He had lost weight ….

Well, that was only to be expected since he was only managing to get down small sips of black coffee, a little apple juice and the thinnest vegetable soup Dominic could produce with his limited culinary skills and his latest acquisition …. An electric food blender ….

Still, it was weight Hawke could ill afford to lose in the first place ….

However, more worryingly, he had also lost much of his conditioning …. Muscle tone ….

Hawke had always been slender, lithe ….

But he had also had a muscular physique ….

Strong and toned and powerful ….

Athletic ….

Now his clothes were practically hanging off him, and his cheeks were sunken and sallow beneath the kaleidoscope of coloured bruises on his face.

However, that was not the most worrying thing ….

The telephone rang shrill and Dominic rose from his seat at the workbench and hurried into the office on the other side of the hangar. He snatched at the receiver, grateful to have something else to concentrate on ….

Suspecting that he knew who he would find on the other end of the line.

"Santini Air …."

"Hello, Dominic …."

"Hello, Michael …."

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III had taken to calling Dominic Santini, once a day, for a discreet update on Hawke's condition, but never called the same place or at the same time.

He hadn't wanted to make it obvious to the ever suspicious Hawke, that he was checking up on him.

Archangel did not need to ask Santini how things were going. The older man's tone of voice told him all too clearly that the situation had not improved any.

But he asked any way ….

Just out of courtesy.

"How is he?"

"Ah …. I don't know, Michael …." Santini sighed, turning his back on the office window, his back to Hawke now, who was still seated on the opposite side of the workbench where Dominic had been working.

"You tell me …. He just …. He just sits there …. Staring into space …." Santini sighed deeply. "Nothing penetrates …."

In the hospital Hawke had been on some pretty heavy sedation, causing him to be sleepy and vague and zonked out most of the time, but in the days leading up to his discharge, the doctors had reduced the dose and replaced it with a strong dose of a more conventional analgesic.

However, his level of awareness had not seemed to improve much.

Even now that he was home ….

Well, staying in Dom's spare room ….

It seemed to take him forever to just sit and think how to do something as simple as putting his socks on ….

It was as if the memory was just out of reach ….

Just beyond his grasp ….

As though he had lost the ability to think for himself ….

Placidly following the instructions that Dominic gave him ….

But completely at a loss as to how to proceed if left to his own devices ….

Synapses firing ….

Misfiring ….

With little or no end result.

And then there were the mental absences ….

The long minutes when he would simply tune out ….

Staring vacantly into space ….

Lost ….

Who knew where ….

"It's like …. The lights are on, but no-one's home …." Dom sighed. "Most of the time I don't know where the hell he is …. Cause he ain't no where on _**this**_ planet, that's for sure …. I speak to him, and he don't hear me …. Just stares right through me …. Like I'm invisible …." Santini's voice caught in his throat then and Archangel could hear the grief in his voice.

_**Poor Dominic ….**_

Archangel knew that this couldn't be easy for him ….

His beloved boy ….

Dead ….

But not quite dead ….

Like the spectre at the feast ….

Dead …. yet unable to be laid to rest ….

Because the corpse was still breathing ….

The man they all admired and cared for, trapped deep within ….

With no way to express himself ….

No way to break free ….

"Have you mentioned it to the doctors?" Archangel asked gently then.

His concern for Hawke's condition was growing by the day.

He knew Stringfellow Hawke ….

He knew his medical and psych profile inside and out, and everything pointed to his being one of the most strong minded and strong willed individuals that Archangel had ever encountered.

Archangel would _**never**_ have believed that Hawke could have so easily caved in …. physically or mentally ….

Even after the severity of the beating he had taken.

After everything that he had been through ….

The things that he had seen …

The things that he had been forced to endure ….

To do, in the defence of his country ….

Archangel would have laid good money on his fighting his way back …. Getting a grip and getting on with living ….

As he had always done before ….

However, there was no sign of that happening ….

Just yet ….

"Sure I have …." Archangel recognised Santini's tone now.

It said: _**'What? You think I'm dumb or something?' **_

"They tell me that it isn't physical, Michael …. There is _**no**_ brain injury, no swelling, nothing to account for it …. But it's like he's had all the stuffing knocked out of him …."

"He has …."Archangel reminded softly. "Literally …."

"You _**know**_ what I mean, Michael …. I'm talking about the will to live …." Again Santini's voice caught in his throat and it took him a moment to compose himself. Archangel waited patiently.

"They say it's probably shock …. Trauma …. That he just needs time to readjust …."

"And he can have it …. As much time as he needs, Dominic …. And if there is anything I can do …. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get our doctors here at Knightsbridge to take a look at him …. Get a second opinion …. All you have to do is say the word …."

"Thanks, Michael …. But it's early days yet …." Dominic sighed again, twisting around in his seat to watch his young friend out of the office window.

Hawke had given up the battle with the coffee and the straw and was once again gazing, catatonically into space.

"Has he said anything …. About that day?" Archangel asked tentatively.

"No …. He ain't exactly _**able**_ to say much …."

The two men were communicating with a note pad and pencil, but even then it was difficult to get more out of Hawke than yes, no, please, thanks, hello and goodbye.

He had never been the kind of man to waste ten words when one would do …. But even so ….

There was no way to tell what was going on inside the younger man's head.

The bruising and swelling on his face made it hard to tell what he was thinking ….

Feeling ….

His expression hard to read ….

Unfathomable …

Except that it hardly seemed to change ….

Just a blank ….

And the hardest thing of all to take was the cold, dead, emptiness of those familiar and previously, always expressive blue eyes ….

There was nothing there at all.

No spark of life.

No emotion.

Not so much as a flicker of impatience or irritation ….

Not even pain ….

It was as if the young man were a ghost ….

A shadow ….

Functioning ….

Just barely ….

Like a robot ….

Nothing left to connect the man sitting on the other side of the room, with the man who had always been like a son to Dominic Santini ….

They were strangers.

Dominic Santini could not help thinking that _**that**_ Stringfellow Hawke had indeed died that night ….

Was gone ….

Forever ….

"No …. I guess not …."

"Besides …. He may _**never**_ remember …." Dominic reminded. "The doctor says not to expect too much …. That he may just block it out …. Too painful …."

But, Archangel thought cynically, how would they ever be able to tell ….

It was entirely possible that the trauma had caused the man they all knew as Stringfellow Hawke, to bury himself away so deeply, he would never be reachable again ….

Cowering in some deep recess of his mind ….

Afraid to face the world ….

Afraid to come back out into the light ….

"How are you holding up, Dominic?"

Archangel tried to keep his tone neutral then, knowing that any hint of sympathy toward the older man would only get his hackles up.

Dominic Santini was a proud man and hated the idea that people thought that he couldn't cope.

He was also a gentle, generous, kind hearted man who would not let Stringfellow Hawke down, so long as he needed him.

If Hawke never fully recovered from this ….

Mentally ….

Santini would see to it that he was loved and protected and guarded ….

For as long as _**he**_ lived ….

"I'm good …. _**We're**_ good …." He added for good measure, not wanting Archangel to start wondering if he was coping …. "We're getting along just fine, Michael …. Like I said, it's early days …."

"Ok …. I'll be in touch …"

"Yeah …. Sure you will …."

Dominic knew that pretty soon, Archangel …. Or more appropriately, his bosses, were going to decide that _**this**_ Stringfellow Hawke was more of a liability than a help to the Firm, and they would put the pressure on _**him**_, Dominic Santini, to return that which did not belong to either himself or Hawke ….

_**Airwolf ….**_

Santini knew that if there wasn't some dramatic change in Hawke's condition, it was quite possible that he would never be the man that he had once been ….

The _**pilot**_ that he had once been.

And his usefulness to the Firm would be over ….

Their deal null and void ….

They sure as hell weren't going to let an old fart like Dominic Santini call the shots over _**how**_ and _**where**_ and _**who**_ got to use Airwolf ….

And he didn't have the clout to hang on to her by himself ….

They would want her back ….

And that would be the end of that ….

"Keep the faith, Dominic …." Archangel said softly, almost able to read Santini's thoughts about the future.

"Yeah … you too …."

Alexandra Beecham stopped the white Fiat just short of the Santini Air Hangar and sat at the wheel, her hands trembling and her stomach cramping with nerves and anticipation.

There was no sign of movement from the hangar, but the Santini Air jeep was parked just outside, so she knew that someone was home ….

As soon as she had driven into the airport, memories had come flooding back, the sounds, the smells ….

Taking her back to her early teens when she had caught the flying bug from her father ….

Starting out in fixed wing light aircraft ….

Going solo for the first time on her fifteenth birthday ….

Moving on to bigger and better machines, until she had discovered the pure, unadulterated thrill of flying helicopters ….

But it hadn't just been the flying that had captured her imagination ….

It had been everything about the beautiful machines ….

The instruments, the controls ….

The mechanics involved in getting them up off the ground and back down again safely ….

She had been entranced ….

And when she had discovered that not only was she a natural born pilot, but that she had just as much natural ability in computer programming ….

Her dearest ambition had been to try to marry the two skills together to produce the most efficient and magnificent machine ever ….

And when her parent's dear friend, Dr Charles Moffett had also learned these things about her ….

Her future had been decided ….

Mapped out for her ….

_**No …**_

She suddenly caught herself up then ….

_**Not her ….**_

That had been Natasha Banks ….

Alexandra Beecham was a Math and Computer Sciences teacher in an inner city school ….

Nothing more exciting than grading papers and watching eager, expectant faces finally grasp some mathematical formula …. For her ….

She sat quietly in the car, watching, waiting, but there was still no sign of life from inside.

She suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach ….

Coming here had been a mistake ….

But all she had wanted was a glimpse of him ….

_**Hawke ….**_

Just to see him ….

To know that he was ok ….

Well ….

He had been out of the hospital for two weeks now, but she had still not heard a word from him.

She missed him.

She needed him to know that she loved him …. No matter what ….

She needed him to know that she was there for him ….

She had no idea what she was going to say to him ….

If he would even recognise her ….

After all, the last time Bob Rutherford had spoken to Dominic Santini, there had been little or no sign of any improvement to his memory.

And now that she was actually here ….

Her courage had already started to desert her.

Would she be able to handle it ….

The way he looked ….

If he didn't recognise her ….

If the damage to his face was permanent ….

Would she prove to be a hypocrite?

Guilty of the same things she had accused him of ….

Of not being able to deal with the changes to his face ….

Maybe changes to his personality ….

No!

_**Of course she would cope ….**_

She _**loved**_ him ….

He needed her ….

She would not pity him.

She would support him ….

Love him even more ….

And she would not desert him.

Summoning fresh reserves of strength, Alex opened the car door, stepped out onto the hot tarmac and walked calmly and purposefully toward the open hangar door of Santini Air.

She drew closer, and, as she looked around the inside of the hangar, she could see someone sitting at a workbench ….

Her gaze falling at last on the man she had missed so very desperately for the last month ….

_**Stringfellow Hawke ….**_

Her heart did a somersault in her chest …. And immediately tears welled up in her eyes …. a lump rising in her throat.

She began to walk slowly toward him ….

She barely recognised him ….

His dear face ….

Battered and bruised almost beyond recognition ….

As she drew closer, just for an instant, their eyes met ….

Alexandra felt her heart leap with joy ….

And then, something totally unexpected happened ….

She felt a shiver, of revulsion, run down the length of her spine ….

Just like someone had walked over her grave ….

Leaving her cold all over ….

Her hair standing on end ….

Their eyes locked ….

But there was not so much as a flicker of recognition in his eyes ….

No hint of emotion ….

Cold ….

Flat ….

Dead ….

Emotionless ….

Yet it was her own reaction to him that frightened Alexandra Beecham more than anything at that moment ….

Her body's reaction to him ….

The very sight of him made her flesh crawl ….

Bitter acidic bile rose up in her throat and her stomach actually roiled ….

She had never felt that way about anyone in her life ….

With the exception of …. Charles Moffett ….

"Can I help you, honey?"

Alexandra span around quickly and came face to face with a slightly older, heavy set man whom she realised, must surely be Dominic Santini ….

He was clad in a grease stained coverall that must have been white, once, a very long time ago, and sported a bright red baseball cap on his head, tilted at a jaunty angle, and his blue/grey eyes were regarding her with suspicion and impatience and there was a touch of irritation on his grease smeared face.

Dominic Santini had seen her walk in through the open hangar doorway and had thought it a damned cheek …. ending his call with Michael Coldsmith Briggs III abruptly …. and had sauntered out of the office and over to the workbench to see what she wanted.

"Oh …. Hello there …. Mr Santini?" She asked a little breathlessly and he could not help noticing how pale she looked, her big dark brown eyes huge in a face that was almost white.

"Yeah …. That's the name over the door …." He greeted her politely, regarding her curiously with big greyish blue eyes. "You ok, honey?" He frowned then, taking in the strange look on her face, wondering if she was going to get sick over his clean hangar floor ….

"Oh …. yes …." She dragged her gaze away from the younger man seated on the other side of the workbench and squinted away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. "Kind of bright out there …." She said by way of explanation for the tears suddenly rolling down her cool, pale cheeks.

"Can we do something for you?"

"Yes …. Mr Santini …." Alexandra had to think on her feet now ….

_**Something was very wrong here ….**_

Something was very wrong with ….

_**Him ….**_

_**That **_man ….

Sitting there staring at her without any hint of emotion on his face ….

"I was hoping to book some flying lessons …." She said lamely.

Would _**he**_ remember that she could no longer hold a pilot's licence because of her brain injury?

There was no hint in his face that he thought anything was strange about her request.

And she realised that he had _**absolutely no**_ _**idea**_ who she was ….

_**Or who she had been ….**_

_**This man had never laid eyes on her in his life before ….**_

But surely the memory loss was only affecting his short term memories …. Recent days ….

Not years back ….

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place …." Santini smiled then, and Alexandra could not help thinking what a pleasant man he was …. "What did you have in mind, honey?"

"Oh …. Well, just a general refresher …. What with one thing and another, I let my licence lapse …." She explained, casting another glance to where Stringfellow Hawke sat, staring into space, wearing a vacant expression.

"I miss it though …. More than I counted on …. Had to do some hard saving …. I guess you know what it's like …." She knew that she was waffling, but couldn't stop herself. "Anyway, got enough money now, so I mentioned it to a friend, who suggested that I come and see …. Stringfellow Hawke …." Her gaze drifted back across the workbench then.

"Oh …." She could hear the disappointment in Santini's voice then.

"Mmmmm. He's supposed to be one of the best …."

"Yeah …."

There was no question about it …. Hawke _**was**_ indeed one of the best ….

But so was Dominic Santini ….

_**Why did they always come in here asking for Hawke?**_

_**Just because he was young …. **_

_**And pretty ….**_

One of these days, Santini decided, he would faint dead away, if someone actually came in off the street and asked for _**him **_as their flight instructor ….

_**Whose name was it over the doorway anyway ….**_

"Oh, sorry, no offence intended …." She seemed to notice his indignation then.

"None taken …."Santini sighed. "Unfortunately, as you can probably see, Mr Hawke ain't exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment …." He indicated to where Hawke sat, still staring vacantly into space and rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"Oh don't pay him no mind, honey …. String, say hello to the pretty lady …." Dominic prompted, but Hawke's gaze did not waver.

"Hello …. Mr Hawke …." Alex reluctantly extended her hand out across the workbench toward Stringfellow Hawke, but he made no attempt to take it.

And for some reason she did not understand, Alexandra Beecham had never been more relieved in her life that she did not actually have to ….

Touch him ….

Dominic Santini watched her withdraw her hand, a look of discomfort on her otherwise pretty face.

"Oh don't worry your pretty little head, he didn't get that way flying …." Dominic felt obliged to explain. "Had a run in with a burglar a few weeks back …." He explained. "Busted his jaw …. So …. He won't be fit to fly for a few weeks yet …. But I could take you up …." He offered. "Fixed wing or choppers?"

"Both …." Alex responded absently, her gaze drifting back to Stringfellow Hawke, and again her stomach knotted and her throat closed, and the sudden urge to run almost overwhelmed her.

_**Dear God ….**_

_**What was wrong with her ….**_

She hadn't expected to feel _**this**_ way about him ….

She loved him ….

Yet this was hardly the way she would have expected her body to react to the man who, only a few weeks before, had been her most welcome and ardent lover ….

Yet ….

Somewhere deep down inside she had enough intelligence to comprehend that she wasn't actually responding to his appearance ….

There was an aura ….

An air about the man ….

That made her want to scream ….

_**Bolt ….**_

Run for her life and keep on running ….

"What have you flown before?" Santini asked, wondering what her interest was in Stringfellow Hawke, apart from the fact that he had been recommended to her as an instructor.

He had never seen such a distasteful expression on any person's face before …. But she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Hawke ….

Fixated on him ….

Hell, he knew the poor kid looked wretched ….

And he was hardly the best commercial for a flight instructor that Santini Air could have had in his present condition ….

But in fairness, hadn't he just explained to her that Hawke's injuries were not due to an accident, but to a dust up with burglars ….

"Cessnas …. Lears …. Gulf Streams …. Hueys …. Bell Jet Rangers and Bell Long Rangers …. All sorts really ….. Gliders, twin props, turboprops …. I even tried out a Gypsy Moth once …. A very long time ago …. Is that a Stearman I see over there?"

"Yeah …." Dominic Santini grinned then, at least she seemed to know what she was talking about.

"She's beautiful …."

"She sure is ….. How long has your licence been invalid?"

"Two years …"

"Well, ok …. I'll need to see your old licence, and medical and insurance clearances …."Again her gaze flicked over the workbench to where Stringfellow Hawke sat, impassive and emotionless, but there was no flicker of any kind of reaction in his cold, flat, lifeless eyes ….

"I'll take you up …. see just how rusty you are, but with all your experience, it shouldn't be long before we can get you certified again …. Just like riding a bike …."

"Thank you, Mr Santini …." She returned her attention to the sweet old man.

"Let me look in the diary …. I think I might have a slot free on Monday afternoon …. Miss?"

"Banks …. Natasha Banks …." She fixed her gaze on Stringfellow Hawke as she said the name ….

But he remained unmoved.

There was no flicker of recognition from him.

His face remained blank ….

Immobile ….

Vacant ….

Eyes, cold chips of blue ice …. dead, fixed on a point somewhere on the other side of the hangar now ….

"Yeah …. There you go, Miss Banks …. I can fit you in at 4.30 on Monday afternoon …."

"That's great …."

"Shall we talk money?"

"Whatever your rate is …."

Santini quoted her a figure …. Quite a reasonable sum, all things considered, and she nodded.

"I wanted the best, so I am happy to pay …." She said as she began to back away from him now, edging closer to the hangar door.

Dominic was puzzled by her odd behaviour ….

First her fascination with staring at Hawke's poor, battered face ….

And now, her apparent sudden need to bolt for the hangar door …. A sick expression on her face ….

"Thank you, Mr Santini …. I really must be going …. Nice meeting you …. Sorry about Mr …. Hawke …. I hope he'll be well soon …."

"See ya, Monday …."

Dominic watched as she beat a hasty retreat and then sank down into his seat at the workbench with a deep sigh, drawing the large magnifying glass closer so that he could return his attention to the carburettor that he had been cleaning out.

"Cookey dame …." He said to no one in particular. "She was kinda cute though …." He grinned, but Hawke remained silent. "Guess you didn't notice, huh …. Wonder which one of your loco friends recommended us to her …." Santini mused aloud then.

"Still any business is welcome business …." He sighed again deeply, wondering just how he was going to cope with everything that they already had on the books, without Hawke to assist in the flying and the maintenance work ….

_**It never rains till it pours ….**_

Usually Dominic was complaining that there wasn't enough full time work for the two of them ….

Now ….

With flying lessons, maintenance and stunt work already booked, and in some cases, paid for up front ….

It was looking like he was going to have to put in overtime in the evenings and at the weekends ….

At least until Hawke was compus mentis enough to pick up a few tools and start poking around in ailing engines ….

He looked at the younger man, seated opposite him and let out another deep sigh.

There was no way to tell what was going on inside his head ….

Where he was ….

Was he thinking about 'Nam ….

St John ….

Airwolf ….

Wherever he was …. It didn't seem to be affecting him emotionally ….

"Well, that's it …. I've just about had it with this place today …." Dominic pushed the magnifying glass away then and sat back from the workbench with yet another deep sigh.

"Whatd'ya say we call it quits and head on home …. I've got a lovely thin vegetable broth all ready for your dinner …." He rolled his eyes heavenward and watched as his young friend remained silent, impassive, emotionless and unmoved.

"Hey …. String ….Where the hell are you, son …." Dominic Santini could not resist the temptation to snap his fingers right under Hawke's nose just to get a reaction out of him.

The young man suddenly seemed to snap out of his trance, blinked rapidly several times and then turned to stare at Dominic Santini in puzzlement.

"Never mind …. C'mon, let's lock this place down for the night …. I could really …. _**Really **_use a beer …."

Alexandra Beecham sprinted across the tarmac and hurriedly climbed into her white Fiat. She wasted no time in turning the key in the ignition and jamming her foot down, hard, on the gas pedal, and the little white car screeched away from the Santini Air hangar, smoke pouring off the rear tires ….

She could barely see where she was going for the tears cascading down her face …. hardly able to breathe between great convulsive sobs ….

She only just made it out of the airport grounds before she had to pull over on to the side of the street, leaning out of the little white car to vomit onto the sidewalk ….

Then she sat huddled over the steering wheel, shaking, for several minutes before she felt able to drive on ….

She kept on driving ….

No real destination in mind …

Until she reached the place out on the Pacific Coast Highway where she and Hawke had had their first meeting …. 'date' .…

The place where she felt as close to him as she ever would ….

With the exception of the cabin ….

She had no idea what had just happened ….

She had never felt such a violent reaction to another living human being ….

Not even Charles Moffett had so reviled her that she had been physically sick ….

_**Dear God ….**_

_**He hadn't even touched her ….**_

Just his proximity had been enough to set her nerves jangling and her heart racing ….

But not with the anticipated joy at seeing his beloved face ….

Nor the usual thrill of sexual attraction and love she felt for Hawke ….

But with disgust and horror ….

Revulsion ….

She buried her head in her hands and wept bitterly until there were no more tears to be wept, and then, drawing in deep cleansing breaths of tangy salt air, she tried to calm herself ….

To focus …. concentrate her mind ….

She still wasn't exactly sure what had happened back there at the hangar ….

Why she had had such an adverse reaction to ….

_**Him ….**_

What it was that had alerted her ….

Set off warning bells ….

Except that some primeval instinct deep within her had kicked in ….

Telling her to run ….

To protect herself ….

_**That it was wrong ….**_

_**He**_ was wrong ….

He _**felt**_ wrong ….

She let out a deep shuddering sigh and pushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, noting that the wind was beginning to pick up ….

The tide must be coming in …. She thought absently.

He might _**look **_like Hawke ….

But some animal instinct ….

Something that she could not put a name to, was screaming at her that he just didn't _**feel **_like Hawke ….

And she was far more inclined to trust that instinct than to trust her own eyes ….

The eye could be deceived ….

It was exactly the same feeling that had saved her that night ….

At the lab at Red Star …. out there at Devil's Anvil …. in the California desert ….

Saved her from Charles Moffett's insatiable lust ….

His perverse sexual deviance ….

But not, regrettably, from his violence ….

But what did it mean?

What could she do about it?

_**And who would believe her ….**_

Some neurotic female ….

_**Spurned lover ….**_

Who would believe her ….

That _**that**_ man, back there at the Santini Air Hangar, was _**not **_Stringfellow Hawke ….

Who would even care?

The Police?

FBI ….

The more she thought about it ….

The more she realised that there was only one person she could turn to ….

One person who was connected closely enough with herself and Hawke to realise that she was deadly serious ….

Only one person in the whole world who might even be able to come up with a reason _**why**_ anyone would want to replace Stringfellow Hawke with a look-alike …. And a very good one to boot ….

A dead ringer ….

A damned good one ….

Could be his twin ….

Except for one small miscalculation ….

That inexplicable _**something**_ that told the woman who loved the _**real**_ Hawke that something was not …. _**right ….**_

_**The real Hawke ….**_

Alexandra Beecham dashed away fresh tears and turned on the ignition, gunned the engine and then screeched off the gravel car park and back out onto the Pacific Coast Highway, making for the first public telephone booth she could find, in the parking lot of a fast food takeaway restaurant ….

And fishing a dime out of her purse, she dropped the coin into the slot and dialled the old, familiar number ….

A number she would never forget, for it had been her lifeline for well over a year ….

And she left a message for the one man that she knew that she could trust with her life ….

_**With Stringfellow Hawke's life ….**_

"Please tell Archangel, Sleeping Beauty is awake and needs to see him as soon as possible …." She told the agent on the other end of the line and then gave the young woman her home telephone number. "He can reach me on this number in about an hour from now …. And tell him it is a matter of extreme urgency …. Maybe even life and death …."

Sleeping Beauty …. it had been something of a joke when Michael had given her the code name ….

Yet very apt, as she had just spent the best part of six months asleep …. in a coma ….

It was unique to her.

He would understand ….

_**She prayed that he would understand ….**_

Because if he didn't believe her ….

Then all was lost ….


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five.

_**Friday 6**__**th**__** July , 1984.**_

_**Michael Coldsmith Brigg's III's Office – 7.30pm**_

"Sir? I thought you were going to leave early this evening …." Marella was surprised to find her boss still seated at his desk, wearing a perplexed expression as he fiddled with a scrap of paper she recognised as a telephone message slip from the main switchboard.

He had been going on all day about his 'engagement' this evening, and had laboured the point that he wanted to be away from his desk no later than six fifteen ….

A rare date, dinner with an old family friend ….

And then a quiet weekend out at the ranch ….

Obviously something had come up to spoil those plans ….

But she wasn't aware of anything major kicking off since she had last checked the reports from the field about half an hour ago ….

Maybe the lady had cried off ….

Never mind, it wasn't any of her business ….

"Change of plans …. A voice from the past …." He waved the scrap of paper at Marella then. "An old friend, rising like the phoenix from the ashes …."

"Oh?" Marella frowned. He had an annoying habit of being cryptic some times. "Does this old friend have a name?"

"Indeed …. Several …." Archangel smiled enigmatically, pushing back from his desk and rising stiffly. "If you don't have anywhere else that you need to be …. I'd appreciate it if you could get me everything we have on …. Sleeping Beauty …." He smiled again, noting the brief flash of comprehension in Marella's eyes. "She's awake and requesting that I contact her …."

"Interesting …. I'll be right back …" Marella told him turning on her white stiletto heels and moving briskly out of his office, her destination their archive store room.

"Yes …. Interesting indeed …." Michael Coldsmith Briggs III mused aloud.

He looked at the telephone number on the scrap of paper and recognised the Los Angeles area code ….

What on earth was she doing there?

He resisted the temptation to pick up the telephone and dial the number …. Wanting to read her file first ….

Refresh his memory ….

But, he couldn't get away from the notion that something was very wrong ….

A matter of extreme urgency ….

Maybe even a matter of life and death …. That was what she had told the operator ….

And the Sleeping Beauty had never been prone to over exaggeration ….

Something was awry ….

And she needed his help ….

Another old friend in dire straights ….

Just like poor Stringfellow Hawke ….

Now was that a coincidence ….

_**No ….**_

Somehow he didn't think so ….

He didn't believe in coincidences ….

Everything in this life happened for a reason ….

And he had a morbid sinking feeling in his bones that she hadn't chosen this point in time to call him just to catch up on old times ….

That was why he had called the lady he had been meant to be having dinner with and asked for her indulgence ….

And a rain check ….

This bore further investigation ….

And he did not trust it to anyone except himself and Marella ….

Sleeping Beauty certainly wouldn't trust anyone else either ….

And, who could blame her ….

_**Saturday 7**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 3am.**_

Dr Yana Petrova winced at the sound of the blood curdling screams coming from within the cell and wished that the guard on duty outside would hurry himself and open the damned door so that she could get inside.

She had been summoned because in the middle of the session, the prisoner had seemed to have some kind of seizure ….

At least that was what the heavy set, breathless soldier who had come crashing into her examination room had told her agitatedly, and as she had been the physician who had administered the drug at the beginning of the session, just before midnight ….

And according to his notes, barely six hours since the end of the previous session ….

_**Six hours ….**_

_**Damn them ….**_

They had demanded that she return to check him over.

The subject was the same bedraggled man she had encountered shortly after arriving at the base, and had been assigned to attend only a few more times in the ensuing four weeks ….

As on the first occasion she had secretly reduced the dose of the drug she was required to administer before being shooed away by the team working on him ….

Not by too much …. So that the men working on him would notice ….

But just enough so that he would gain some benefit from it later ….

It was clear to her that they were increasing the frequency and the intensity of the sessions in a bid to get quicker results ….

She did not know how much more the man could take ….

The guard had frozen fingers and was fumbling with the keys, and by the time he finally had the heavy metal door open, the screams from within had subsided and Petrova hastily pushed past the men crowding around the old leather dentists style chair to find the prisoner slumped forward, held in place only by the restraints around his wrists and ankles.

There was a pool of water around the chair and the cobalt stink and static crackle of electrical discharge in the air ….

_**What the hell had they done to him ….**_

She roughly pushed two men out of her way, one in a white coat, the other, the man in the Captain's uniform ….

Gregorovich ….

_**Damn ….**_

She had managed to avoid coming into contact with him since her last encounter, but she could see the look of recognition and interest in his eyes and knew that despite the fact that she had kept her head down and stayed well out of his range, he was still interested in her ….

_**Damn ….**_

_**Damn ….**_

_**Damn ….**_

It occurred to her that perhaps Mischa had been right when he had hinted that the only way to get rid of the Special Ops Captain was to cooperate with him ….

If indeed he did try to corner her ….

Take a chance and come on a little too strong …. and maybe scare him off ….

That perhaps her lack of interest was making it more of a challenge for him and if he thought that she was interested too, he might just back off a bit ….

Give her breathing space ….

Trying to avoid the pool of water, Petrova roughly raised the insensate man's head, grabbing a handful of his sweat dampened hair with one hand, and jabbing two fingers from the other hand into his neck, seeking out a pulse in his carotid artery.

With relief she felt the pulse throbbing rhythmically, strong and sure and steady.

Much too strong and rapid if he had truly fainted, Petrova noted silently, casting a surreptitious glance at the Captain who had moved away from the prisoner now and was standing almost in the cell's doorway, talking to his staff and the man in the white coat, a psychiatrist she had seen around the base but had not yet been introduced to.

"Get these things off him …. Now!" She demanded of the Captain, indicating the restraints, but the military man only moved very slowly in response to her order, so Petrova began to tug impatiently at the restraints herself.

Captain Uri Gregorovich shoved her roughly out of the way and set about unfastening the thick silver buckles that secured the leather restraints and as they became looser, the man in the chair slumped forward even more, before finally tumbling head first out of the chair.

Petrova, guessing what would happen, hastily rushed to his aid, roughly pushing what looked like another electrical generator out of her way, falling to her knees as she tried to stop his head from cracking against the hard, cold, concrete floor, too late to stop the first harsh bang but just managing to slip her hand under the back of his head before it made a second resounding thud against the solid floor ….

His whole body was shaking ….

From cold, shock or from the drugs, she couldn't be sure ….

She tried to turn him over so that she could see his face, cradling his head in her hand ….

And then he turned to face her ….

And she could see that same fierce determination to live in his eyes ….

And something else ….

_**Cognisance ….**_

_**Real understanding ….**_

She realised that the seizure had nothing to do with the procedure ….

Or the drugs….

He had contrived it ….

Probably to get _**her**_ in here ….

Maybe to test their security protocols ….

To see if the sicker he acted …. the more relaxed they would be about watching him ….

And he might just be able to grab an opportunity to escape ….

_**It was exactly what she would have done too ….**_

But why?

Was it because he had realised that whenever _**she**_ attended to him …. Afterward, he didn't feel quite as bad as after the other sessions …. When she was not the attending physician ….

_**Smart guy ….**_

He must have learned that which ever doctor attended to give the shot was also required to return at the end of the session to check that he had survived the procedure thus far and supervise the return to his cell.

_**Very smart …**_

_**Observant too …..**_

_**Considering his present condition ….**_

Or ….

Maybe he had sussed her out as the weakest link ….

The softest touch ….

And was trying to work out how he could use that to his advantage ….

All of which indicated to Petrova that his brain wasn't quite as fried as it should be at this stage of exposure to GKP ….

He was either one very lucky sucker ….

Or one helluva tough cookie ….

_**Either way, he was going to be a big pain in the ass ….**_

Another complication she didn't need ….

"Help me …." He gasped out in a raspy whisper, reaching out to put a shaking hand around her neck, drawing her face closer to his own.

"I _**know**_ what you are doing …. thank you …." He rasped. "If you really want to help me …. get me the hell out of here …. _**Please ….**_"

Petrova's grey eyes briefly grew wider as she recognised his accent as being American, her heart pounding in her chest as she realised that any minute now one of the guards was going to get suspicious about what he was saying to her ….

Fervently hoping that the prisoner would take her reaction as one of shock at his grabbing her like that ….

Not that she recognized him as a fellow American ….

"Please …." He implored, taking her wrist with a surprisingly iron grip.

Not wanting to give him hope where there may be none …. Yana Petrova gave him an angry glare and an impatient shrug, trying to yank her hand out of his grasp ….

Hoping to convey to him that she did not understand what he was saying, and then addressed the group of chatting men on the other side of the cell.

"Hey, you, don't just stand there …. Are you going to let him manhandle me like this …. Help me …. I need help getting him up …." She snapped in perfect Russian, at the men standing around conversing in quiet voices, and out of the corner of her eye noted, just for the briefest instant, the disappointment registering in the prisoner's china blue eyes.

_**Sorry buddy ….**_

Her heart went out to him ….

But she had no idea who he was or what he was doing here ….

Besides, she had another mission entirely ….

Although God knows that was going nowhere fast ….

She could not permit him to go on believing that she _**might**_ be able to help him ….

It would be too cruel ….

And ….

Because, someone was bound to notice ….

And that would put them both beyond help ….

"What did he say to you?" Captain Gregorovich demanded to know, drawing her attention away from the man on the ground now, as he marched over and prised the bedraggled man's clawed hand from around her wrist and roughly kicked him in the belly, ensuring that he rolled away from her clutching his stomach.

Captain Gregorovich then barked out an order that despatched one of his men to find an orderly to help her get the prisoner up off the cold, wet floor, as he took her hand and pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Well." He demanded, as she found her balance at last.

"Nothing intelligible …." Petrova pulled her hand carefully out of his grip, rubbing it gently to restore blood flow and then began straightening her clothes and trying desperately to regain her composure, whilst also acutely aware of the man rolling around in agony at her feet ….

Wondering if _**that**_ was for real or another act for her benefit ….

Probably real …. She surmised ….

Gregorovich's kick had been particularly well aimed and vicious ….

"_**Get me the hell out of here …. Before they kill me ….**_" The man on the ground howled, clutching his belly.

"What is he saying?"

"How should I know …." She told the Captain with an angry scowl.

She suspected that he was testing her ….

That he spoke enough English to know what the man was saying and was suspicious that she might know too ….

_**Sneaky bastard ….**_

All the high level officers were required to learn a little English ….

But as a civilian doctor, seconded to the base, she was not ….

If she showed any sign at all that she understood one single word, he would be suspicious of her again.

Maybe even suspicious enough to get her background checked out ….

_**Damn ….**_

_**She had to be really careful now ….**_

_**Use her wits ….**_

"I think he is delirious …." She added for good measure. "And …. If you are trying to kill him, Captain, you are doing a fine job of it …."

"Whatever we are trying to do here is of no consequence to you, Comrade Doctor …."

"Nor is it of any interest to me, Comrade Captain …." She assured him in a haughty tone, carefully stepping over the man who was still rolling around on the ground clutching at his midriff, and tried to inch her way closer to the door ….

Anxious to make her escape.

"However, you are unlikely to succeed if you electrocute him." She pointed out, glancing briefly over her shoulder toward the discarded and thankfully disconnected electrical generator.

"He's no use to you dead, is he?" This time he shrugged. "In that case, may I suggest that you have him taken back to his cell and leave him alone for the rest of the day …. You could also give him some warmer, dry clothes and a little something extra to eat and drink…. Or it is debateable if he will survive the week …."

"Are you saying that he is not strong enough to continue with the procedure?"

"Yes Comrade, Captain …. That is exactly what I am saying …. I could summon Dr Dimitriov …. to give you his opinion …." She stood her ground defiantly.

If nothing else she could buy this American some time to recover both his wits and a little of his strength.

"That will not be necessary …." The Captain sighed deeply.

"In my opinion it would be prudent to allow him some time to recover …. His body is weak …. It will not tolerate much more of this …. He may appear young and healthy, Comrade Captain, but as you were no doubt advised, the drugs we are using are known to have an adverse affect on the heart …."

"Unfortunately, Comrade Doctor, his mind is proving to be much more resilient than his body …."

"Without a body, the mind is of no use to you either …." She reasoned.

"Very well …." The Captain acquiesced as the guard returned to the cell with two male orderlies, who immediately set about roughly hauling the prisoner to his feet and began to bodily drag him toward the cell door.

The man hung limply between them ….

But Petrova suspected that this was a continuation of his act ….

And as they hauled him roughly to his feet, and dragged him across the cell to the doorway, the prisoner managed to lift his head just long enough to give her another penetrating, imploring look and rasped out the words:

"Help me …. _**Please .…**_ Americanski …. _**Americanski .…**_" Before the Captain lost his patience completely and moving swiftly across the cell, threw a punch, aimed directly at the man's jaw.

His head flew back with the force of the blow, as fist connected with jaw bone, and Petrova desperately tried to hide her wince, as she heard the sickening sound of his breath escaping in a desperate, hissed groan, and then he slumped limply in the orderlies grip, as they finally hauled him away.

When Petrova made to follow them out into the corridor, the Captain moved back and stood in her way.

"Where do you think you are going, Doctor?"

"With my patient …."

"That will not be necessary …. I will see to it that he is …. Taken care of, according to your instructions …."

"Very well …. But I will need to see him again before you even think about continuing with the procedure …. Dr Dimitriov is very clear in his instructions on this matter, Comrade Captain …." She could see immediately that her second use of the project's senior medic and her immediate superior's name unnerved him.

"Every man has a limit …. And this one has reached his …. For now …. Given a chance to recover a little …. Regain his strength a little …. I am sure that he will then be more …. Inclined to succumb to your persuasion."

"As you wish …."As Petrova made to move away from him, his hand snaked out and grabbed at the top of her arm roughly.

"Haven't I told you once already not to get too interested in the subjects …." He pinned her with grey eyes that were as cold as steel.

"I am simply trying to do my job, Comrade Captain …." She lowered her gaze demurely and tried to ignore the iron grip of his fingers biting into her tender flesh.

_**Damn …. **_

She could not afford to suddenly become of even more interest to this man.

His lustful interest was bad enough …

She didn't need him to be suspicious of her motives and her reason for being here ….

She needed to remain inconspicuous ….

Especially if she was going to have any part in helping the American to escape from here ….

And she now fervently wished with all her heart that she would have the opportunity to help him escape from this place ….

Despite the fact that his outrageous behaviour had put them both in the centre of the Captain's radar screen ….

_**Idiot ….**_

_**He could have been a bit more subtle about it ….**_

_**Fool ….**_

And even, if it wasn't officially sanctioned by the powers that be ….

It would be worth it just to see the smug look wiped off this sadistic bastard's face.

"See to it that that is _**all**_ you do, Comrade …. Or else I might feel the need to bring your behaviour to the attention of Dr Dimitriov, and General Sevchenko …."

He left the threat hanging in the air between them, then, roughly pulling her closer to him ….

Crushing her slender body close to his hard, lean torso.

So close she could feel his hot breath on her face ….

As she waited to see if he would indeed try to kiss her ….

Then, he must have thought better of it, for after giving her upper arm yet another vicious squeeze he released his grip, pushed her roughly away from him and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

Yana Petrova held her breath until she was outside the cell and hurried to the end of the corridor, turning the corner, then she sank against the nearest wall, closing her eyes and drawing in precious, calming breath.

_**Bastard ….**_

_**So that was his game ….**_

Over powering the little woman with his superior strength, until he frightened her into giving him what he wanted ….

She knew _**exactly**_ what he wanted ….

_**And if he wasn't careful, she was just the gal to give it to him!**_

She was also going to have to do something about this American guy ….

Or his damned antics were going to get them both killed …

However, she had to admit that she admired his gall ….

And his acting talents .…

She liked his spirit ….

And no matter who he was, or why he was here ….

No one deserved to die at the hands of these animals ….

And certainly not like that ….

In the grip of GKP ….

Battered and beaten, cold and hungry and humiliated ….

Unable to defend himself ….

She vowed there and then that if a chance to help him presented its self, sanctioned or not, she would do her best to liberate him and get him away to safety ….

Why?

_**Self preservation ….**_

And ….

Simply because she liked his style ….


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six.

_**Saturday 7**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge – Headquarters of The Firm -11.30am**__**.**_

Alexandra Beecham stepped carefully out of the luxurious white limousine and gazed in awe up at the huge complex of offices that were the headquarters of the Firm.

As the limo pulled silently away, a slender dark haired woman came forward wearing a huge smile and holding out her arms to greet Alex with a warm embrace.

"Hello Marella …." Alex smiled softly, genuinely pleased to see the older woman again after all this time.

The two women had grown close after Alex had regained consciousness, after the coma, and Marella had supported her emotionally throughout her rehabilitation, Archangel's liaison, when he personally was not able to visit with her ….

And surrogate older sister ….

Offering support and friendship and advice ….

And listening ….

To the younger woman pour out her heart ….

Helping her to adjust to the fact that from the moment she had awoken, everything that she had once known …. Loved …. Cherished …. Was denied her.

Home.

Family.

Work .

Friends.

Potential mates ….

That in effect …. She had been born again ….

A fresh new page to begin on ….

Marella had helped her to grieve for the old life …

And had then helped to ease her into the new one …

It had been one of the hardest things that Alex had ever done ….

Save walking away from Stringfellow Hawke ….

To say goodbye to Marella, knowing that she would never see her or hear from her again …. when she had moved to Florida, to begin her new life.

"Hello honey …. You look terrific …." Marella grinned.

"It's good to see you too …." Alex returned her embrace.

"You've gained a little weight …. It looks good on you too …."

"And you haven't changed a bit …."

Marella slipped her arm around the younger woman's waist then and guided her toward the main entrance, where the security guard on duty waved them through.

"So tell me what you've been doing with yourself …." She invited as they walked through deserted corridors, turning first this way and then that, leaving Alex feeling somewhat dizzy, as she told Marella a little of what she had been doing since they had last met.

"A teacher, huh …. Yes, I remember that's what you wanted to do …. Do you enjoy it?" They had finally come to a halt outside a bank of elevators, and Marella pressed a button on a shiny metal panel on the wall, summoning the elevator car.

"Yeah …. Sometimes it can be very rewarding …. Other times it can be down right frustrating …." Alex smiled weakly.

"And are you _**good**_ at it?"

Alex found herself smiling.

Trust Marella to ask the right question.

"Yes …. I believe so …. I do seem to get results with students that other teachers have given up on …."

"Then you made the right choice …. Michael is waiting for you upstairs …." Marella explained as the elevator door swished open. "He was surprised to hear from you …."

Alex stepped into the small private elevator that would take her up to Archangel's private inner sanctum ….

A place she had only been once before ….

When she had come to say goodbye to Archangel and thank him for all that he had done for her ….

She frowned when Marella did not automatically join her.

"I have something to do first, but maybe I will see you again later …." Marella smiled reassuringly and pressed the button for the top floor.

The doors closed silently and the smooth journey took less than a minute.

When the doors opened again it was on to a pristine white vestibule, white walls and carpets, the only spots of colour, the odd framed picture on the walls ….

Horses ….

_**Yes.**_

She remembered now ….

He loved horses ….

Was an excellent rider ….

And now, there he was ….

Waiting to greet her ….

Her benefactor ….

Guardian angel ….

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III ….

Archangel ….

And she could not hide her shock at his appearance ….

As he limped slowly forward, leaning heavily on a rosewood cane, to greet her with a delicate kiss to her cheek.

The limp ….

One lens of his eye glasses blacked out ….

Alex suddenly recalled what Stringfellow Hawke had told her about Moffett stealing Airwolf ….

But not until after he had emptied all fourteen of her weapons systems, into the lab ….

And all its occupants ….

Had Michael been there ….

Probably ….

If he was still the creature of habit that he had always been.

He had never missed a day at the lab ….

Ever curious about everything ….

"Hello, stranger …." He greeted her softly, and the smile he gave her was warm and genuine.

"Hello, Michael …. You've been in the wars …." She reached out and gave him a swift, strong hug before stepping back to look at him once more ….

And when she did, there were tears shimmering in her eyes, he noted now.

That told him a great deal, even before their interview had begun ….

She had never been an overly emotional young woman ….

Taking everything pretty much in her stride ….

Oh there had no doubt been tears ….

Lots of them, in the beginning …. Marella had confided to him once ….

Which was, only to be expected ….

But as she began to accept her new existence and her health had improved, Alexandra Beecham had grown into a mature, sensible, level headed and even tempered young woman that everyone at the Knightsbridge medical facility had come to love …. And admire.

She was strong ….

She had had to learn to be ….

Facing a new life ….

With none of the support mechanisms that other young people had backing them up when they moved out into the real, adult world on their own for the first time ….

Alexandra Beecham did not let things get her down.

She did not over react ….

She took everything in her stride ….

Something was troubling her deeply ….

He could see it in her lovely deep brown eyes ….

Beyond the veil of tears, which she blinked away rapidly as she tried to regain her composure ….

And Archangel was touched ….

He found that he was pleased that she had thought enough of him to come to him for help.

Especially after all this time had gone by.

"Come and make yourself comfortable …. There is coffee …. Tea …. I think there might even be a pastry or two …." He began to walk towards a pleasant room, comfortably furnished, with a huge window that gave him a magnificent, panoramic view of the grounds and Alex followed, discreetly wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "So what brings you here?"

"Stringfellow Hawke …." She told him bluntly.

Archangel stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to face Alex, as she stood in the doorway, wearing a solemn expression.

"Alex …. You know I can't tell you anything about him …."

Archangel wondered if this was about that silly crush she had once had on Hawke ….

Had she come here hoping that he would be able to tell her where he was ….

So that she could look him up ….

So that perhaps they could pick up where they had left off ….

After all this time?

"I don't need you to tell me anything about Hawke, Michael …." She sighed deeply then, her disappointment at his reaction to her words, obvious in her dark eyes.

"That's good …. Because I _**can't**_ …. It would be a breach of protocol …. Not to mention our agreement …." He reminded her.

His help in starting a new life, in return for turning her back on Hawke ….

Walking away ….

And having no further contact with him ….

Ever ….

"Even if I _**knew**_ where he was …."

"Have you seen him recently, Michael?" She asked softly, cutting him off in mid sentence.

"Of course not …." He denied vehemently as he limped deeper into the room, making for a huge white leather couch. "It's been more than two years …. You know that …. I told you when he left the project …. We had no need to continue our …. Acquaintance …."

"Liar." She countered, a solemn expression on her pretty face now.

"Now, Alex …." There was a warning in his voice now, one which Alexandra Beecham chose to ignore.

"I _**know**_ you've seen him in the last six months, Michael …. Because he _**told**_ me …."

"What?" Archangel snarled, spinning around to glare at her.

"He told me …. He also told me that Moffett is dead …. Why didn't _**you**_ tell me, Michael …. Didn't you think that I would appreciate a call …. Just to let me know that that miserable, psychopathic son of a bitch was finally out of my life for good …. No matter …." She sighed deeply then, holding up her hands to still him when he made to protest.

"Hawke told me what Moffett did …. I guess you got caught in the crossfire …." She stared at him defiantly then. "So I guess, maybe you had other things on your mind …."

"You've _**seen**_ Hawke …. Dammit Alex …. Don't you realise that that could _**compromise**_ your …."

"We met by accident, Michael …." She cut him off then, in a more reasonable tone of voice.

"Back in March …. He paid a visit to the school where I teach, in Los Angeles …. Imagine my surprise when _**he**_ comes out of the sky in a magnificent Army Huey …." The smile that touched her lips then was filled with joy and lit up her whole face.

"He recognised me straight away …. What was I supposed to do? Deny that I was the woman he thought I was? Try to convince him that it was all in his imagination …. Just a passing resemblance to a girl he once knew …." She arched an eyebrow then.

"Deny that I didn't recognise him too, when it was obvious that I _**did**_ …. We both know Hawke well enough to know that he wouldn't have bought that …. I'm not _**that**_ good at thinking on my feet …. And I didn't need him creating a scene at my work place …." She hesitated then, just for a moment, and drew in a deep breath.

"And, frankly, Michael …. it was so damned good to see him again after all that time …." A ghost of the previous smile curled at her lips then, briefly, before her expression grew solemn. "Naturally he was furious …. Demanding answers …."

"And so you told him …."

"Everything …."

"_**Everything ...**_"

Archangel took a few paces away from her again then, suddenly wondering why it was that Stringfellow Hawke hadn't thrown another punch at him, after he had learned about his involvement in Natasha Banks' sudden disappearance from the Red Star lab ….

And then it suddenly occurred to him that Alexandra Beecham could be the mystery lady who had been making Hawke's life …. and Hawke himself so bearable recently ….

"We've been seeing each other …." She told him candidly then, seeing the realisation dawn in his eyes.

"_**You ...**_." He expelled the word on a sigh, stopping himself before he gave away the fact that he was aware of Hawke's romantic involvement with someone …. After all he wasn't meant to have had any contact with Hawke for over two years, he reminded himself.

"Alex …." His tone was slightly scolding, but, he thought about it again and wondered why it hadn't occurred to him before.

Of course ….

It all made perfect sense to him now ….

He regarded her with a steady gaze. "What about our …. Arrangement?"

"Stuff our arrangement, Michael …." She told him candidly. "My year was well and truly up and I was on _**my**_ time …. Besides, I decided life is too short …. _**I love him.**_ I have _**always**_ loved him. So I decided it was Fate, throwing us together again …. I didn't actively seek him out …. Nor him me …. We met by chance …. Through mutual friends …. So, forgive me for being a weak, frail female …. I decided to accept it as a precious gift …. As I saw it, it was right …. And it was past time I took a chance …."

Of course.

He should have guessed ….

So it hadn't been just a silly crush all those years ago after all ….

But the seed of something much deeper ….

For both of them ….

That would teach him to assume that the young could not possibly understand those things ….

Could not possibly feel something like that as deeply as their elders ….

He suddenly recalled what Dominic Santini had said about this romance of Hawke's being serious ….

_**On both sides ….**_

"We've gotten quite close lately …." She confessed and a soft blush coloured her cheeks then. "And I don't regret it, Michael …. Not one minute of it." She told him defiantly then. "I know that I have never been happier …. And I think String feels the same way …." She flushed again.

_**Very becoming ….**_

_**If only she knew ….**_ He thought silently.

And he smiled gently at her, carefully easing himself down onto the couch now, and patting the seat beside him.

He had been privileged to see the end result of that …. Closeness ….

The change in Stringfellow Hawke ….

That was all well and good ….

Yet he could not help wondering just how candid Hawke had been with her ….

Just how much did she know about _**his**_ life ….

What he did beyond his work with Santini Air ….

As she had asked if he had seen Hawke in the last six months …. _**not **_the last few days ….

Maybe Hawke had not told her _**everything**_ ….

_**No ….**_

He would want to protect her ….

Shield her ….

Keep her out of it ….

_**Wise man.**_

What she did not know wouldn't hurt her ….

_**Or Hawke for that matter ….**_

_**But **_….

If there was anyone Hawke might feel that he _**could **_confide in about Airwolf …. Alexandra Beecham would be a prime candidate ….

Alexandra moved swiftly toward the couch and gratefully perched on the edge of the seat beside him.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III took her small, cool hand then and gave it a gentle squeeze.

He looked deeply into her eyes and could see that something was still troubling her deeply ….

_**Hawke ….**_

_**The assault on him ….**_

Had she seen him since the incident at the hangar ….

_**Poor kid ….**_

It must have come as an awful shock to her ….

But he still didn't understand why that should have brought her here to him ….

What she could possibly have thought was _**extremely**_ _**urgent **_….

_**A matter of life and death ….**_

"Naturally, we talk …." She told him, after taking another deep, calming breath. "He told me about your approaching him …. to get Airwolf back …. So please, don't try to deny that you've seen, String …."

_**Hot damn ….**_

_**What else had Hawke told her ….**_

"What is this about, Alex?" Archangel asked suspiciously.

"When _**was**_ the _**last time**_ you saw him?" She pressed him again.

"When was the last time _**you**_ saw him, Alex?" He countered.

"Yesterday …." Her voice wavered then and fresh tears suddenly sprang into her eyes and she was forced to look away ….

Archangel thought that he understood then.

Obviously Hawke's appearance _**had**_ come as something of a shock to her.

"And you?"

"Not for …."

"The _**truth**_, Michael …. Please …. It's important …. I _**need**_ you to tell me the _**truth**_ …"

"About a month ago …." He sighed deeply, unable to get beyond the pain he could see in her eyes.

"So you know what happened to him? The attack?"

"Yes …."

"And?"

"And what?" He shrugged.

"Did you notice anything …. Different about him?"

"You mean apart from the fact that someone had tried to rearrange his features …." He noticed her wince then and gave her a weak, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Alex …." He patted her hand gently. "At least give me a clue …. The man was heavily sedated and had his jaw wired closed …." He pointed out. "What was it that I was supposed to notice that was different about him?"

"I'm sorry, Michael …. It's not easy for me to explain …." She shuddered then and Archangel frowned, knowing that it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. "What about Mr Santini? Has he said anything …."

Again Archangel shrugged.

So she knew about Dominic too ….

Oh well ….

He wondered why he was so surprised ….

And then he thought about her question, trying to work out what she was getting at ….

_**Dominic had said a lot of things ….**_

But the poor guy was still shocked and upset over the incident and having to deal with the aftermath ….

With Hawke in his present condition ….

"Alex, you have to understand that the man has been through a lot …." He tried to point out, but she shook her head, pulling her hand out of his grasp and rising from the couch then, to walk to the picture window, wringing her hands anxiously as she did so.

"I know it's upsetting, Alex …. But he's bound to have changed …. Just a little …. Did he remember you …. When you saw him yesterday?"

"No …." She turned back then to face him, pale and nervous, brown eyes large and luminous in her wan face and still obviously very distressed.

"But that's not the point …. I expected that …." She told him in a soft voice. "I had been warned that that might be the case …. The point is, Michael …. There is something very _**off**_ about him …." She shuddered again.

"Off?" Archangel frowned. "What do you mean by …. _**Off…. **_"

"I don't really know …. I just know that the man that I saw at Santini Air yesterday is _**not**_ Stringfellow Hawke …."

"What?" He laughed out loud then. "Don't be absurd …."

"Michael …. I'm serious …." She let out an anguished sob then. "And I am telling you that _**that**_ man is _**not**_ Stringfellow Hawke …."

"Oh, come now, Alex …."

"Michael …. When a woman …. loves a man …. when they have shared certain …. _**intimacies**_ …. A woman _**knows**_ that man …. Her _**body …. knows**_ him …. _**Reacts**_ to him in a certain way …." She grew awkward then. "Something chemical …. Pheromones or something like that …." She endeavoured to explain, despite her obvious embarrassment.

"And you _**didn't**_ react in the way you expected, when you saw Hawke yesterday?" He concluded.

"_**Hell no ….**_ I most certainly _**did not .…**_" She confirmed, blushing furiously again ….

Yet shuddering once again at the same time, he noted ….

A sick expression on her face.

"Under the circumstances, Alex, I hardly think that that is surprising …. He must still look like he's been through …. the meat grinder …." He saw her wince again and knew that his assessment of Hawke's appearance was not wide of the mark.

"Alex, you wouldn't be human if you didn't find it …. off putting …." He tried to be as tactful as he could.

"Just being in the same room with him made me feel _**physically sick**_, Michael …." Her voice rose a notch then as though trying to convey to him just how unexpected and violent her reaction had been.

"Every instinct I possess was screaming at me to get the hell away from him …. To run away and keep running …." She pulled a face and shuddered again.

"I was …. Repulsed …. Disgusted …. Sickened …. Literally …. My skin _**crawled …. **_And he didn't even touch me, Michael …."

"Alex …."

"But it wasn't just _**that**_ …. His eyes …. There's nothing there of Hawke at all, just dead, flat …. lifeless …. Empty …. There is no warmth, spirit …. humour …. there is no essence of the man that is Stringfellow Hawke …." She insisted.

"His eyes are like windows to his soul, Michael …. You look deeply enough and you can see into his heart, his soul …. But _**this**_ man …. There's nothing there …. They're cold, like ice …. Cold and empty and dead …."

"Is that it?"

"I know I'm not explaining myself very well, Michael …. It's just a feeling …. But it's the _**same**_ feeling that I had with Moffett …. A repugnance …. A revulsion …. An animal instinct that told me that he was dangerous …."

"A feeling …." He sighed deeply.

He could not deny that she had said some of the same things that Dominic Santini had said too ….

Most eloquently ….

But he still did not know what she wanted from him ….

"Yes Michael …. A _**feeling …. **_" Tears welled up in her eyes then and her knees almost gave way beneath her as she knew that she would never be able to convince him.

And if she couldn't convince _**him ….**_

What would become of the _**real**_ Stringfellow Hawke ….

The man that she loved ….

There was only one thing for it.

She had to _**find**_ a way to convince him.

Reason it out with him ….

Let him work it out for himself ….

She came back to sit beside him on the couch once more, fixing him with a steady gaze now.

She took a deep breath and held his gaze with eyes that appealed to him to listen to her objectively ….

And she found herself unable to take her eyes off the blackened out lens of his eyeglasses ….

The left lens ….

"There were other things …." She continued in a soft voice. "I was led to believe that the amnesia only affected his short term memory, but when I told Dominic Santini that I was …. Natasha Banks, Hawke didn't flinch …. I was testing him …. And the name meant absolutely nothing to him …." She reasoned gently.

"I went … Well, I'm not really sure _**why**_ I went there …. Except that I …. wanted .… _**needed**_ to see him, to see for myself that he was really all right …. But when I got there …. When I _**did**_ see him …. My God, Michael …. Something warned me to be wary …. Not to let on my real reason for being there …. So I made up some story about wanting to regain my pilot's licence …. but, Michael, the _**real**_ String knows that I _**can't**_ fly …. Because of the epilepsy …." She told him calmly then.

"You told him that too?"

"Yes …."

"You really did tell him _**everything**_ …."

"Yes …. Everything…." She confirmed sorrowfully. "It was one of the last things we talked about …."

"And how did he take it?"

"As well as anyone could …. Let's just say he was dealing with it …."

"Look, Alex …. I take your point, but even the doctors aren't sure about the amnesia …. And as the man himself can't communicate very well at present, they can't be sure that it _**is**_ just his recent memory that's affected …."

He saw the look of disappointment on her lovely face ….

And couldn't help thinking that she really had grown into a very beautiful woman ….

And he knew that if there was one thing that he would eternally regret ….

It was that he had not protected her from that fiend Moffett ….

And for just an instant, Archangel envied Stringfellow Hawke ….

_**Lucy SOB ….**_

And he felt for her too, he really did ….

But she really wasn't giving him much to go on ….

Just supposition ….

And a gut feeling ….

_**Female intuition ….**_

Hunches ….

Well ….

He'd mounted major operations into enemy territory on hunches more than once in the past ….

Hadn't he ….

And hadn't he played a hunch just recently that he was still waiting to pan out ….

But ….

He also couldn't get away from the feeling that her coming here now was no coincidence ….

That it was significant ….

_**What if she really was on to something ….**_

Even Dominic Santini sensed that something was just not _**right **_with Hawke ….

Felt uncomfortable around a man whom he had raised from boyhood and whom he loved like a son ….

Something that he couldn't quite explain as eloquently as Alexandra ….

But _**felt**_ it just the same ….

Out of place ….

_**Off key ….**_

Yes, that was what she was trying to say ….

What they had both been trying to tell him in their own individual ways ….

Things felt off key ….

Discordant ….

Grating on the nerves ….

And he had to admit that he had felt that way himself.

It just didn't add up.

Any of it ….

"I'm sorry, Michael …. I know I'm not giving you much to work on …."

"I need proof …."

"Then help me to find it …. There has to be a way to prove it …. There just has to …. What if I'm right, Michael …. What if that man _**isn't**_ the real Stringfellow Hawke? Where is _**he**_? What might be happening to _**him**_?" Her voice cracked then and he knew that she was really serious.

It wasn't just some silly notion ….

An idea ….

She really was worried that the man that she loved was in mortal danger ….

"I hear you …."

"But?"

"But …. I need something a little more concrete …."

"All right, Michael …." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and thought long and hard, her gaze never leaving the blackened out lens of his eyeglasses, wondering what it was about it that was niggling away at her ….

_**And then ….**_

_**Suddenly ….**_

_**It hit her ….**_

"Bruises …." She wasn't even sure if she said the word out loud but the look on Archangel's face told her that he thought that she had seriously lost the plot ….

"What?"

"Bruises …."

"Indeed …. He has a face full …."

"Yes …. No …. Not quite …. But, Michael …. I've never yet seen bruises move from one side of the face to the other …."

Even as the words came out of her mouth, Alexandra wondered where she had dredged up the memory from ….

But that was it ….

She'd seen it and never even realised ….

She'd seen the evidence with her own eyes ….

_**His face ….**_

The guy she had met yesterday…. Yes, his face had been a mass of livid blue and purple and black bruises ….

But they had mostly been on the _**right**_ side of his face ….

The last time she had seen Hawke ….

He had been sporting that beautiful shiner she had given him when she had been having that awful nightmare ….

The livid bruising around his left eye ….

From a lucky punch ….

A broad smile suddenly erupted on Alex's face, and Archangel began to wonder if she was bordering on hysteria now ….

And what was it about his left eye that seemed to interest her so damned much ….

_**Didn't she know it was damned rude to stare ….**_

"That's it, Michael …. _**That's it**_!" She giggled, but the tears came rushing down her cheeks then, and Archangel suspected that his assessment of the situation was correct.

She was getting hysterical.

"Alex …."

"It's all right, Michael, I'm _**not**_ mad, I promise you …." She smiled through her tears, and now he could see the relief in her eyes.

"The man at Santini Air yesterday, yes, he has a face full of bruises …. But he also _**doesn't **_have one where he _**should**_ have …." She told him victoriously.

"I don't follow …." He frowned, still not sure that she was completely rational.

"No, Michael …. But, if you'll just indulge me, I think I can give you that concrete proof you're looking for …. Please, Michael …. Don't dismiss me out of hand just yet …. A man's life could very well depend on it …."

"Hawke's life, I suppose?"

"Yes …. _**Hawke's life ….**_ And I know that means _**something**_ to you, Michael …. Else you wouldn't have gone to him to get your precious Airwolf back …. Will you help me?"

"What do you need?"

"Did the police …. Or maybe the hospital, take photos of Hawke, just after the attack?"

"I think perhaps they both did …. A simple matter of procedure with the Police, for evidence, just in case they ever caught someone for it and it had to go to court …. and the hospital, for a comparison for the plastic surgeon …. Hawke's ID for before and the pictures from that night for the after …."

"Good …. Do you think you could get a set sent up here? Maybe a copy of the medical report too …. If it lists his injuries in detail …."

"Maybe …. If you'd care to tell me why I would want to do that?"

"Because when I've seen the pictures, I'll know for sure that I'm right …. But, if, in the meantime, you'd care to call Dominic Santini, and ask him if Stringfellow Hawke had a blackened left eye _**before**_ he was set upon that night …."

"A blackened left eye?"

"Yes …."

_**Ah ….**_

The penny suddenly dropped ….

And so did her eyes, briefly, by way of an apology for staring at his affliction.

"And pray tell, _**how**_ did he get that?"

"I gave it to him …."

"Oh?"

"Let's not get into that …." She blushed furiously ….

But she could see from the look on his face that he was not going to let it go, simply at that.

"I had a nightmare …. A flash back to the night in the lab …. Moffett …. and String was trying to comfort me …." She clarified. "A lucky punch …." She flushed very becomingly then and smiled shyly at him. "Now will you do it?"

"Well, the phone call to Dominic Santini is easy enough …. But Alex …. Surely a bruise from that long ago would have healed by now …. Perhaps that's why you didn't see it there …." He pointed out calmly.

"Maybe …. But the photographs will tell us for sure, Michael …. The _**real **_Hawke will have a bruised left eye on the photographs …. If its not there …. You'll know I'm right …." She reasoned. "I know it's a long shot …."

"But if there _**is**_ photographic evidence to back you up …. We could be in business …."

It was flimsy ….

But it was better than just a feeling ….

And it could be proved ….

Alex reached out and planted a huge kiss on his cheek then, taking him completely by surprise.

"My God, Alex …. You know what this means …. _**if**_ you're right …."

"I _**am**_ right, Michael …. I _**know**_ it …."

"Incredible! The audacity …." He marvelled out loud.

"Michael?"

"Female intuition …. _**Damn**_ …. I'll never doubt it again …."

"Michael …."

"If you are right, my dear girl, then someone went to a great deal of time and trouble to pull this off …."

"You mean pulling a switch …. replacing Hawke with a ringer?"

"Indeed I do …." He looked at her with astonishment.

So, she _**had**_ fully grasped the notion.

"_**Someone**_, Michael?" Her deep brown eyes drilled into him then as she picked up on his tone of voice. "Do you have someone in the frame for this?" She asked in incredulity.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves …. Pass me that telephone …."

Alexandra complied, passing him over a sleek white telephone with a push button keypad, which had been sitting on an end table beside the couch, and he quickly set about dialling the familiar number at Santini Air ….

Dominic Santini answered on the third ring, an exasperated edge to his voice as he growled his name into the receiver at the other end.

"Dominic, Archangel …. Answer three simple questions for me …. yes or no."

"Hello to you too, Michael …."

"Dominic, just do as I ask, please …. Firstly, did you see Hawke at any time during the week before he was attacked?"

"Yes …."

"Secondly, did he have a black eye _**before**_ the attack?"

"Yes …. He sure did." Santini confirmed, a hint of confusion in his voice now. "A real beauty too …."

"And thirdly …. Which eye was it …. Left or right?"

Santini paused for a moment, mulling it over in his mind then replied. "Left."

"Thank you, Dominic …."

"Michael …. What's going on?"

"Nothing for you to worry about …. How is our …. Friend …. today?"

"Same old same old …."Santini sighed deeply.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

"Work …. With a mechanic out of action, there's plenty for me to do around here …."

"Fine …. I'll be in touch …. Keep the faith, Dominic …."

"Yeah .… You too …."

Archangel set down the receiver in its cradle before Dominic Santini could ask any awkward questions ….

Could imagine the older man standing there with his baseball cap in his hand scratching his head and making some snide comment about the government agent having lost his marbles ….

And he silently blessed him.

He had given him the answers that he needed.

"I was right, wasn't I? String had bruising around his _**left**_ eye, _**before**_ the attack in the hangar that night …."

"Dominic Santini confirmed it …."

"Thank God …."

The next thing Archangel knew, Alex was in his arms, holding on to him tightly, sobs wracking her body as she wept tears of sheer relief.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you sooner …." He held her shaking body in his arms wishing that there was something more that he could do to comfort her.

"You believe me now …." She sobbed. "That's all that matters …."

"We still have to get the photographic evidence, Alex …. I don't know if I can convince Zeus …. The Committee …. to mount any kind of operation without that …."

And he couldn't be sure that they wouldn't just wring their hands in glee ….

Sacrifice Hawke to the enemy ….

So that they could get Airwolf back under their control ….

Without Hawke in the picture, Dominic Santini would be as easy to swat as a passing fly ….

And he suspected that Dominic Santini had already reached that conclusion himself ….

_**There had already been rumblings ….**_

Why hadn't he already forced Santini to reveal the location of Airwolf ….

_**Because it didn't suit his own agenda ….**_

"You have to, Michael …. String's _**life**_ is at stake …." She implored.

And much more than that …. Archangel thought to himself ….

_**Much …. much …. more ….**_

_**Hot Damn ….**_

Was he good …. Or was he good ….

_**Damn ….**_

He had _**known**_ that there was something fishy about those damned Russians ….

Well, whatever it was they were up to ….

They had only accomplished one half of their plan ….

Yet, hadn't he read a report from the surveillance team that the Russians had disbanded and gone their separate ways ….

After visiting Disneyland and Universal Studios, the Queen Mary and several very expensive restaurants ….

That didn't make sense ….

Unless of course they were waiting for the phoney Hawke to get well ….

And steal Airwolf for them ….

Perhaps their plan involved the phoney Hawke coercing Dominic Santini to take him to where Airwolf was secreted ….

Maybe even do away with Santini in the process ….

The Firm would think that Hawke had turned renegade ….

_**Traitor ….**_

Tipped over the edge by the beating ….

It was certainly a possibility ….

_**And what had they done with the real Stringfellow Hawke ….**_

Of course, nobody had thought it in the slightest suspicious that the same number of men, using different airports, at different times …. Had left the country as had arrived ….

One body less ….

One body more ….

And somebody somewhere might just have smelled a rat ….

Sevchenko going back to Paris via JFK and then West Germany, before disappearing in the Eastern sector ….

The other two taking different routes, but no doubt they would have had the same final destination ….

One from Florida and the other via South America.

But none of them bearing the slightest resemblance to Stringfellow Hawke ….

So how the hell had they gotten him out of the country ….

The answer was simple.

There had to be more than just three of them ….

They had entered the country covertly ….

And left it the same way.

While his people had been watching the regular points of entry and exit.

Archangel had been livid when he had read the report from the surveillance team …. that they had not witnessed the assault on Hawke in the hangar.

Their report made mention of the arrival of the two men in business suits and then a little later, the arrival of the grey limousine ….

But they hadn't been able to actually see inside the hangar ….

And as their remit had been to maintain contact with the Russians ….

They had not bothered to go and check that Hawke was ok ….

"Michael …." Alex drew away from him then and gazed up at him, eyes wide and red rimmed, face awash with tears ….

But the question in her eyes was clear for him to see.

"Do you know who could have done this …."

"Not for sure …."

"Please, Michael …." She implored.

"The Russians …. Maybe …."

"_**Ohmygod .…**_" She gasped. "But why?" She asked then, desperately trying to think what Hawke might have that the Russians would want ….

And then ….

There it was ….

Sudden realisation, dawning in her dark eyes.

"_**Airwolf …." **_She gasped. "String got Airwolf back for you …. And now they think that he knows where you have her stashed …. How to get her …. That they can use him to steal her for themselves …."

_**Clever girl ….**_

_**Well worked out ….**_

_**But not quite ….**_

But at least that answered one other of Archangel's questions.

Obviously Hawke had not told Alex that he was the one who had kept Airwolf to use as leverage to get information on the whereabouts of his brother, St John.

"My God, Michael …. This must have taken months of planning …. To find someone who so closely resembled Hawke …. Physically …. Change his face …." Her eyes grew wide with horror.

"_**That's**_ why they beat his face to a pulp, Michael …. Fresh bruises to cover up any scars left by plastic surgery, to alter his appearance …." She marvelled, and Archangel had to agree that it was both audacious and ingenious.

"And they injured him in just the right way …. Ensuring that he wouldn't have any need to speak …."

He watched her expression change again then as she drew away from him …. And he knew what was going through her mind.

"Michael …. Could you have stopped this from happening …. Could you have prevented this?

"No …." He told her softly.

She nodded then in acceptance.

"I had no idea Hawke was their target …. Just that they were here …. And up to _**something ...**_ I still don't know for sure …."

"But it's a pretty good bet, right?" Again he nodded in confirmation. "Do you know where he is …." Archangel shook his head. "What they could be doing to him …." Her voice cracked then as more tears overwhelmed her.

_**He had a good idea ….**_

_**On both counts ….**_

And Archangel knew that he had never felt more wretched in his life ….

_**Could he have prevented it?**_

What did it matter now?

It was too late for accusations and recriminations ….

The damage had been done.

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, for a start, I'm going to get Marella to check out the photographs …. We need to be sure that we're not barking up the wrong tree …. And then …. I'll take it to Zeus and see what he thinks …."

He suspected that he already knew what his boss would say ….

_**Get Hawke back ….**_

_**No matter what the cost ….**_

It was the only way to keep that damned helicopter out of the Russians' hands ….

The only way that they could continue to use her ….

Get some return on the exorbitant sums of money they had thrown at the project already ….

She hadn't been developed to just sit in some lab somewhere and be ogled at ….

No matter how stubborn and awkward Hawke could be to deal with …. At least he could get the job done, without flinching ….

No matter what it was ….

No matter what it entailed ….

He didn't shy away from what needed to be done ….

But Archangel also knew that the rest of the Committee would not be so inclined to see things Zeus' way.

And if they couldn't get Hawke back ….

Alive ….

They might as well stick a ton of dynamite up Airwolf's turbojet ports and light the fuse ….

Dominic Santini could handle Airwolf ….

But he was no Stringfellow Hawke.

And it would take far too much time to train another pilot to fly her ….

Even if they could find one with Hawke's finesse ….

"Will we get him back, Michael …." Alex's voice trailed away then and more tears cascaded down her pale cheeks.

"I can promise you that we will do our best …."

_**If **_the realHawke was still alive, that was ….

Archangel knew that he would have to do something ….

Because if Dominic Santini got wind of this ….

He would almost certainly take it upon himself to take Airwolf, and try to rescue Stringfellow Hawke all on his lonesome ….

And if he did that ….

There was a very good chance that neither he, nor Hawke, would ever come back ….

And Airwolf would certainly fall into the hands of the enemy ….

"I'll get all our people on to it, right away …. After we've seen the photos …."

She nodded then and sat back on the couch, staring silently into space ….

Archangel rose from the couch and went out into the vestibule where he used the internal telephone system to contact Marella, wanting to set things in motion straight away, giving her a very brief run down of Alexandra Beecham's suspicions and what he needed her to do.

"Shouldn't someone warn Dominic Santini …." Alexandra asked as he returned to the lounge room and began to pour himself a cup of strong black coffee.

"No …." He responded, taking a sip of his coffee. "At least not yet …. We need him to continue to act naturally …. We wouldn't want to tip …. Him …. Hawke…." He saw her wince at the use of his name, but what else could he call him? "We don't want to tip _**him**_ off …. We still don't know what his orders are …."

"To get Airwolf, of course." She said confidently. "You _**don't**_ have her, do you Michael …." She regarded him with steady big brown eyes then and he could not help admiring the way her mind worked. "String does …."

_**She was smart.**_

_**Too damned smart for her own good …**_

"String has her …." There was now a defiant look in her eyes.

A look that dared him to deny it.

"It's the only way this makes any sense, Michael …." She reasoned. "If The Firm had her, you'd have her under lock and key somewhere so safe, the Russians wouldn't even consider attempting to steal her …. They'd know that your security was impenetrable …. That even if they cloned a million Stringfellow Hawke's he would _**never **_havebeen allowed within a hundred square miles of her …. because he walked off the project more than two years ago …. His clearances would no longer be valid …. And someone would have questioned his being there …."She paused for a moment, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment.

"The only way for this to make an ounce of sense is if …. Hawke …. For whatever reason …. somehow managed to keep Airwolf for himself …. He might have _**her**_ hidden away somewhere safe …. But he couldn't keep hidden himself …. He has a life to live …. They _**know**_ he has her …. and they knew that it was the easiest way for them to get to her …. Pull a switch, and then wait for Hawke to need to use the bird …. maybe even on some unauthorised mission for _**you**_, Michael …. Is that the deal?" She reasoned, eyeing him curiously, knowing that that was the devious way that he did business ….

"And it's a sure fire bet that if Hawke has Airwolf …. Dominic Santini knows where she is too …. All this ringer has to do is get Santini to take him to Airwolf's hideout …. Under some pretext …. Routine maintenance …. Systems checks …. Santini won't question it …. He trusts Hawke …. Hell, he might even suggest something like that himself, to Hawke …. It may even be how they work …."

Her voice trailed away then, as she noticed that he had not tried to deny any of what she had said.

"You're not telling me that I'm wrong, Michael …." She said, somewhat disconcerted, as she had expected him to hotly deny her suspicions.

_**Maybe she was barking up the wrong tree ….**_

He merely shrugged.

"Then you know that we have to tell Dominic Santini …. He could unwittingly do exactly what they are waiting for …. Lead the impostor straight to Airwolf …."

"Maybe …. _**If**_ Hawke _**has**_ Airwolf …. And _**if**_ Santini _**knows**_ where it is too …. Let's say he does …. Just for arguments sake …. Dominic Santini wouldn't do anything until Hawke is well …. At present he is not in any condition to fly, and any maintenance that Airwolf might require can wait …. She's not going anywhere …."

He smiled then, conspiratorially.

And Alex knew that she was right.

Hawke _**did**_ have Airwolf ….

_**Dear God ….**_

"And in the meantime …. The Russians have the _**real **_Hawke …. What do you think they are doing with him? Playing backgammon? Maybe the impostor is just there to keep up appearances, keep you occupied …. while the Russians drug …. brainwash …. Do God knows what to the real Hawke, to get him to take them to Airwolf's hideout …. And fly her straight to Moscow for them …. Land right on the Kremlin's lawn …."

"I'm not sure that the Kremlin has a lawn …." He drawled sarcastically, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that she was good.

_**She was damned quick on the uptake ….**_

He had weighed everything up too, just as she had, but she had gotten there before even him ….

It was such a pity about the epilepsy ….

The other injury ….

_**She would have made a damned fine agent ….**_

"But I take your point …." He added when she scowled at him.

"How do you know they haven't already got Airwolf? They've certainly had time to make their move …"

"It is my understanding …. She is rigged in such a way that whoever has her is alerted …. And if they can't get there to stop whomever the intruder is …. They just push a button and Kaboom …. She's rigged to explode …. Believe me, Alex, if _**that **_had happened, we would know about it …. Besides, the team I had watching them reported that the Russian group broke up the day after the attack at the hangar and left the country, by different routes …."

He was still unhappy that his people had merely been counting bodies instead of studying faces ….

Obviously a great deal of thought had gone into the Russians operation ….

It appeared that they had left nothing to chance ….

Had covered all their bases ….

It was too late to be crying over spilt milk.

Hawke had been spirited away, by whatever means ….

And they had to find him ….

Before they could begin to work out a plan to get him back ….

In one piece.

It wasn't like they didn't have any clues at all ….

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III watched Alexandra Beecham sitting demurely on the couch, staring into space, her fingers nervously playing with a pretty little gold St Christopher pendant around her neck, and he wondered what she was thinking.

He suspected that her thoughts were all bound up in Stringfellow Hawke and his fate.

It was obvious that her feelings for the pilot ran deep ….

He felt his own heart softening.

Was it such a bad thing ….

Hawke and Alex ….

Both willing to take a chance ….

Despite his past experiences with love …. And death ….

And her life threatening medical condition ….

They were either both damned foolish ….

Or very brave ….

Why the hell shouldn't they grab what happiness they could, together …. While they had the chance ….

Who was he to begrudge them such happiness ….

Alex was right.

She didn't owe him anything.

She had fulfilled her part of their deal admirably and as far as he was concerned, she was free to live her life as she saw fit.

As for Hawke ….

So long as it didn't interfere with his work for Archangel ….

"Here …." He stood before her now, holding out a cup of coffee for her, and Alex smiled softly as she accepted it from him, noting that he had even remembered to add just a little milk, just the way she liked it.

"Thank you, Michael …. And I don't just mean for the coffee …." Her fingers lingered against his, just for a moment, as she took the cup and saucer from him.

"Alex …. About you and Hawke …." She tilted her head, birdlike to one side and regarded him with soft, deep brown eyes. "I'm happy for you …. For both of you …. It's about time you both had a bit of good fortune …."

"Thank you, Michael …. But it seems to me that we are going to need a helluva lot more than good luck …. to get him back safe and sound …."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven.

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia –**_

_**Sunday 8**__**th**__** July, 1984 – Mid morning.**_

Captain Uri Gregorovich stormed into Dr Jorge Dimitriov's office, his face a hard, thunderous mask as he slammed down a personnel file in front of the senior medic and waited for the man to look up from the file he was making notations on.

He had had to wait for the other man to come on duty early that morning, and so had spent the time intimidating the pretty blonde Lieutenant in Personnel, with his size and his scowl, for the file on Dr Yana Petrova.

Now his anger was almost up to boiling point, as Dimitriov made him wait, as he scrawled notes into the file he was working on, surreptitiously looking up from time to time to regard the other man's angry countenance.

"What can I do for you, Comrade Captain?" Dimitriov inquired politely, sitting back from his desk to regard the military man with little interest in the cause of his anger and displeasure.

There was always something with these military types ….

They simply were not happy unless they were snarling about something or at someone …. Dimitriov had learned.

"What do you know of this woman?" Gregorovich demanded, nudging the personnel file closer to Dimitriov.

Jorge Dimitriov let out a deep sigh and scanned the name on the spine of the file.

Dr Yana Petrova ….

_**Ah yes …. **_

She had been seconded to the base while he had been off on his junket to the land of baseball and apple pie ….

He recalled her now ….

Petite and slender, with hair the shade of red much favoured by the artist Titian and eyes the colour of smoke ….

Deep, smouldering grey.

_**Good looking woman ….**_

_**Considering her age …**_

_**But not his type ….**_

_**He much preferred them blond and voluptuous …. **_

_**And young …. **_

_**Very young …..**_

"She's competent and capable …. as far as I am aware. There is nothing in _**there **_…." He nudged the file back toward Gregorovich's side of the desk. "To cause us any concern, Comrade Captain …." He sighed again.

"As for knowing her …. The simple answer to that is, I do not. I have not worked with her before and she has kept herself to herself since joining us …. However, I have no complaints with regard to her work …."

"Well _**I do**_, Comrade Doctor …." Gregorovich snarled.

"Oh?"

"She is taking rather an unhealthy interest in Prisoner Z."

"That is _**your**_ opinion, Comrade Captain …." Dimitriov sighed deeply.

He had already had this conversation with General Sevchenko, after Gregorovich had raised his doubts about Petrova to the base's Commanding Officer, in passing, not long after she had first arrived.

Dimitriov had checked her file himself, and then called his contacts in Moscow just to be sure ….

But had found nothing untoward ….

Except, perhaps, her poor taste in men ….

She was currently involved in a relationship with a mechanic, a big, wild and rather rough looking fellow who had followed her and taken a job in the nearest town.

After Sevchenko had approached him, Dimitriov had kept a discreet eye on Petrova, curious himself to know a little more about her …. but had found nothing suspicious about her behaviour and had even admired her humanitarian attitude and compassion … Toward the subjects they were experimenting on and her colleagues alike ….

Things he had somehow lost sight of since being transferred to this wretched hell hole of a place ….

She did not ask questions and kept her mouth shut about what she saw. Nor did she question medical decisions, even when she must surely know that they were questionable ….

But she did have a tendency to speak out when she thought that something was wrong ….

"What has she done now?"

"Prisoner Z had some kind of seizure …." Gregorovich began, now looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"_**What**_!"Dimitriov exploded.

"During the procedure, he had some kind of seizure, so I followed protocol and sent for the attending physician …. Petrova …." Gregorovich explained slowly.

"Why didn't someone come for _**me**_!" Dimitriov demanded hotly. "For God's sake man …. You _**know**_ how important that man is …. How delicately we need to proceed …."

"We followed procedure, Comrade Doctor, and summoned the physician who administered the drugs …." Gregorovich pointed out once more. "You were off duty and off base …. It was the middle of the night, after all, Comrade Doctor …." Gregorovich reminded with a sneer.

"So what did she do that so outraged you, Comrade Captain …. Other than perhaps save _**his **_life …. And _**our **_skins!" Dimitriov fumed.

"She has instructed us to send him back to his cell, give him a break from the procedure and to allow him more food and water …. And rest …. She is concerned that physically he cannot tolerate any more of the treatments …."

"I have warned you …." Dimitriov blustered. "I have constantly warned _**all**_ of you, that you were rushing things with Prisoner Z …. There is still so much about this technique that we are unsure of …. What do you think will happen to us if you kill him!"

"So you are in agreement with her opinion, Comrade Doctor?" Gregorovich was incredulous now.

"Of course I am …. You can't reprogramme a dead man …. I told Sevchenko only yesterday that I thought Z had reached his limit …. That he needed time to recover a little strength …. Regroup …. It is his mind we are trying to break, not his body …. One is of little use to us without the other!"

"So you stand by her decision?"

"I do, Comrade Captain …. I trust her instincts as a physician and her experience. Just because she still has the capacity to show a little kindness and some compassion does not mean that she is trying to undermine what we are doing here …. Or that she is trying to sabotage our work …. Her decision to have him returned to his cell might very well have saved us all …."

"I want it understood that it is my wish that she is no longer to have any contact with Prisoner Z."

"I will not have a competent physician removed from duty simply because you have taken a …. dislike to her …." Dimitriov raged. They could barely cope with the workload as it was.

"My personal feelings toward this woman have nothing to do with it …. I do not trust her, Doctor …. She is far too interested in what we are doing here …."

"Did it not occur to you that perhaps she is interested because she is ambitious, and wants to progress in this field?" Dimitriov sighed deeply in exasperation. "I can't punish her for doing her job well, Comrade …."

"Then let her do her job well …. with some other …. Less important prisoner …. Remove her from the duty sheet for Prisoner Z."

"I can't do that, Comrade Captain …. We barely have enough staff as it is …." He sighed again. "I regret that you feel this way, Comrade, but I cannot remove a good doctor simply because you do not like the fact that she stood up to you …. However, I will talk with her …." He placated, noting the hard glare Gregorivich was giving him.

"Make her understand that questioning your actions is not part of her job and that no matter how much she might dislike what goes on here …. It is a necessary part of our work …."

"Remove her from the duty sheet, doctor, or _**I**_ will …."

"You don't have the authority …."

"In _**this**_ matter …. With _**this**_ particular prisoner …. I certainly _**do**_ have the authority …."

"What's wrong, Comrade? Did she spurn your advances?" Dimitriov sneered and from the look in the Special Ops Captain's eyes, he suspected that he had hit pretty near the mark.

"Replace her with someone else, Comrade Doctor, or I will personally see to it that both you and she are transferred to somewhere …. less pleasant."

Dimitriov regarded the military man with incredulity as he stood there, on the other side of the desk, back ramrod straight and no hint of compromise in his military bearing.

_**Imbecile.**_

More threats ….

Another thing that he had noticed about the military ….

Always more threats ….

Where the hell in the Soviet sphere of influence did the man think he could send him that could possibly be worse than the winter he had just spent here!

And why would he possibly entertain the idea that Dimitriov would even care.

Building tractors in Murmansk looked attractive to the senior medical man right now ….

None of the constant pressures to get results ….

Regular hours in a nice warm factory ….

It sounded like heaven at that moment ….

Because right here, right now, all Dimitriov could see was his life ….

His world ….

Everything …..

Falling apart ….

Before his very eyes …. and all because of the incompetence of people like this overbearing robot before him ….

"All right, Gregorovich …." Dimitriov let out another deep sigh of resignation. He could see little point in arguing further with the military man. He would simply go to the General and get him to over rule his decision.

"I will make sure that she does not have anything further to do with Prisoner Z …. But …. I will not have her transferred to another base …." He qualified. "We need her here …. A fully qualified and competent medic is a valuable resource …. Even you must see the sense in that …."

"Thank you, Doctor …."

"As for Prisoner Z …. Her medical orders stand for now. Let him rest for at least a day …. and give him warm clothes, food and water …. Allow him to sleep a little …. And then we will begin again when he is refreshed …. We may get better results when he is a little stronger …. But …. In the meantime, we will not stop the drugs. They may continue to work on his mind even as his body recovers a little."

"Very well." Gregorovich acquiesced now.

"I am concerned about Prisoner Z …. It is taking too long …."

"He is strong willed."

"Yes …. Stubborn …. Very stubborn …. But, as I have already said, this technique is still very experimental …. He is one subject we cannot afford to lose in the process …. There is too much at stake, Comrade Captain …. So, in future, if my staff make medical recommendations about a subject's condition, based on their knowledge and experience, you will _**not**_ question them. Dead men tell no tales …. Nor do they carry out their missions …." He reminded sagely.

"We have already fallen foul of your …. heavy handed tactics, Comrade, Captain …." He sneered, again reminding Gregorovich that the beating he and his men had given the replacement Stringfellow Hawke had set back their timetable for the American end of the mission, and that neither Sevchenko nor Moscow were very impressed.

His broken jaw had complicated things ….

Although it was Dimitriov's opinion that it had been a stroke of luck ….

As reports from their agent on the ground in Los Angeles indicated that certain aspects of the programming were …. Less than perfect ….

That was what became of rushing into things ….

And they were doing the same thing again with the real Stringfellow Hawke …. Or Patient Z as he had become here.

His programming was a little different to their 'clone' ….

They were not trying to make him believe that he was someone completely different ….

A complete change of personality and personal history ….

Only that certain aspects of his past were different ….

That he was not really a patriotic American …. but a double agent, loyal to Mother Russia ….

And that getting Airwolf back from the Americans, who had stolen it from them, was his main priority.

Didn't they realise that by rushing things, they could destroy the very information that they were relying on ….

His ability to pilot the damned helicopter ….

Controlling him was one thing ….

But he also had to retain the knowledge that made him so damned important to them.

If they continued to pump him full of GKP at the rate they were doing, they were running a serious risk of destroying vital information ….

Not to mention killing the subject ….

Then where would they all be?

As for the American end ….

Timing was everything.

If the 'clone' did not pull off his end of the mission ….

All their hard work would be for nothing ….

If ….

No ….

_**When**_ ….

They finally broke the stubborn American's will ….

For it was only a matter of time ….

If they would just be a little more patient ….

He could not hold out for very much longer …. He was already getting close to being prescribed the maximum safe dose ….

If they were not _**very very**_ careful ….

They would end up with nothing more than an empty vessel ….

A weakened body and a vacant mind ….

There was a very very _**very**_ fine line between what they could administer safely and what would push him over the edge ….

Why would no-one on the military staff listen to him?

The answer was simple.

They just did not care.

They all had their own agendas.

If it all went south, their careers might suffer a little …. They might have to endure a brief transfer to the ass end the republic ….

Afghanistan perhaps ….

But then they would begin to claw their way back into favour and be promoted out or transferred to another cushy billet ….

While for him, his reputation in the field would be destroyed, his career, in tatters, his life in ruins ….

A lifetime devoted to service of his country and her advancement squashed under the jackboots of men like Gregorovich, who did not care or understand the delicacy of this kind of work and were determined to get what they wanted ….

No matter what.

Didn't Gregorovich realise that his demands to have a perfectly good physician removed from the programme simply because she would not co-operate with his romantic overtures was petty ….

_**When was the man going to grow up for God's sake ….**_

Didn't he understand that this was the last thing that Dimitriov needed to concern himself with right now.

He needed to figure out a way to get the results they needed quickly, but without killing Hawke ….

No easy task.

Especially with the pressure that he was facing, from both Sevchenko, and Moscow ….

_**Idiots.**_

_**They had no idea what he was facing ….**_

And, he suspected ….

Nor did they care ….

No matter what happened, they would take care of their own interests ….

"Just make sure that the woman is kept away from Prisoner Z …." Gregorovich snarled and turning on his heel, marched briskly out of Dimitriov's office, leaving Dimitriov to wonder when the military would ever learn that their way was not always the right way ….

He reached out for the telephone on his desk and asked the operator to summon Dr Yana Petrova to his office ….

Only to be told that she had gone off duty at seven that morning, and off base, signing out a jeep, to make the trip to town …. no doubt to be with her rough and ready lover …. until her next rostered shift.

Which he was also told, did not begin until ten o'clock that evening, when she would begin her shift and work through until seven the following morning.

This week she was obviously working what was commonly known as the graveyard shift ….

No point trying to call her at home right now …. She would probably be sleeping …. Even if the intermittent telephone service was working properly today ….

Still, their work here continued twenty four hours a day ….

He would leave a message at the gate for her to come and see him when she came back to the base ….

As things stood at the moment, it looked as though he would be working the graveyard shift himself tonight ….

Dimitriov could not help feeling a little resentful ….

He hated having to reprimand his medical staff, especially when they had not done anything wrong ….

He knew that Dr Petrova's reluctance to succumb to Gregorovich's lustful advances was really behind this ….

But he also knew that he could not _**order**_ the woman to give into Gregorovich's advances ….

If the man persisted with his interest, that was one battle she would have to fight on her own ….

So, he had to go along with the compromise that he had agreed with the Captain.

Such a pity to waste her knowledge and skill ….

But they were short of a mortuary attendant and a pharmacy assistant …. She was more than capable of fulfilling either role ….

Although he suspected that she would be insulted ….

Any medic with her qualifications and experience would be ….

_**Tough luck.**_

It was more important to placate the Captain ….

And then perhaps he could get back to the task of trying to figure out how to increase the success rate of the procedure and to speed it up to suit Moscow's timetable.

_**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Sunday 8**__**th**__** July, 1984 – 1.00am**_

"I'll be damned …." Archangel sat back on the couch in the penthouse living room with a sigh and a smug grin, tossing a lurid, glossy colour photograph down onto the coffee table. "You missed your calling, young lady …." He grinned at Alexandra Beecham who was curled up in the armchair opposite, her feet tucked under her as she nestled drowsily in the big leather chair.

She looked tired and pale, and suddenly very small in the over stuffed armchair, but there was a gleam of triumph in her dark brown eyes.

Between them, scattered haphazardly on the coffee table, were the stomach turning photographs of Stringfellow Hawke's facial injuries, and in the matching armchair on the other side of the room, Marella was sitting, quietly scrutinizing a copy of the medical report, purloined from Northridge Medical Centre earlier that evening.

Her beautiful features were cast in a frown and Archangel could tell that something that she was reading was not quite right.

"Well, Marella?"

"It doesn't make for pretty reading …." She sighed softly. "But …. There is no way that _**this**_ guy could possibly be _**our **_Stringfellow Hawke." She declared.

"You're sure?" Archangel demanded.

"Positive …. I checked Hawke's medical files …. everything that I could get my hands on …."She gave him a conspiratorial smile then.

"I compared everything on record going right back to when he had his first physical at induction into the army …. Did you know that he actually has an allergy to meat …. That's why he doesn't eat it …." She divulged, raising her eyes briefly from the file to find Alex nodding and Archangel giving her a look that clearly told her to get to the point ….

And to do it quickly.

"Their records on his injuries from Vietnam …. Our records, when he joined the Airwolf project …. He was subjected to a very rigid and thorough physical exam at that time …. The last physical he had to have to maintain his licence …. For insurance and regulation purposes …. And the hospital report after the assault …." She noticed Archangel regarding her with an impatient, pointed look and smiled apologetically.

"His recent medical history is a bit sketchy …. But …" She paused momentarily and looked up to watch Alexandra's and Archangel's faces as she dropped the bombshell … "…. there is no way his blood group could have changed …." She grinned triumphantly.

"And nobody picked up on it?" Archangel asked in incredulity. She shook her head. "Damn …."

"Well, to be fair, they didn't have the luxury of his full past history to hand at the time." She justified. "They only did a brief history upon admission …. Going by visual examination and what Dominic Santini could tell them …. It was a routine blood test and when it came back clear they didn't follow through …. They may have passed it off as a clerical error …. Or decided that Mr Santini was too shocked at the time of admission and got a little confused …." She pointed out to Archangel and shrugged non commitally.

"However, there is a note in the margin here, left by the surgeon, Dr Amanda Brentwood …. Smart cookie …. She seemed to think that it was strange that the X Rays showed so many new and recently healed fractures …. She has written, and I quote "'Is this guy accident prone, or does he have a death wish.'" She grinned again then. "She tactfully suggests that someone should persuade Mr Hawke to find a new line of work …. As his recent injuries would suggest that perhaps he isn't very good at his present one …." She chuckled.

Hawke had sustained some injuries during the course of his work with the Firm, but had not attended a regular hospital to get treatment for them ….

Not wanting to leave an official trail ….

Especially after the gunshot wound he had picked up in Africa ….

Knightsbridge had fixed that up for him ….

And they were not bound by the law that required that all gunshot wounds had to be reported to the authorities.

And as an employee of the Firm he was perfectly entitled to take up the medical benefits that were on offer.

Archangel knew that there had been no injuries of that nature …. Fractured or broken bones ….

At least not to _**their **_Stringfellow Hawke ….

So ….

It would seem that the impostor might not have been very well treated by his …. Handlers …. Archangel mused silently to himself ….

And if that were indeed the case, then that did not bode well for the _**real**_ Stringfellow Hawke ….

However, he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Then that seems to clinch it …."Archangel sighed. "Proof positive that the man Dominic Santini is nursing is _**not**_ Stringfellow Hawke …." He sighed again expressively. He looked over at Marella then and she immediately set down the file she had been reading and rose gracefully from the armchair.

"I'm on to it …." She confirmed even before he had a chance to speak.

Archangel smiled his appreciation as she turned on her stiletto heels and walked out of the living room, leaving Archangel and Alexandra Beecham alone.

"Why don't you go home? Get some rest …." He suggested as he noted her stifling a yawn with a balled fist.

"You must be kidding …."

"No, actually, I'm serious …."

"I'm not going anywhere until I know String is safe …." She insisted.

"Alex …. There's nothing you can do …." He pointed out softly. "You're not one of my operatives …."

"I know that …. But you never know …. I might come in handy …." She smiled wearily then. "I haven't done too badly up to now …." She reminded him gently. "I'll just sit here and nap …. I'm fine, really …." She lied.

"You're going home …." He insisted, reaching for the house phone to summon the limo for her.

"No, Michael …. Please …. Let me stay …. I'll find a billet somewhere, get my head down for a couple of hours, honest …. But I really want to stay …." Her eyes implored him. "You'll bring him back here, won't you …. Once we get him back?"

"Perhaps …."

"Then I want to be here, Michael …. He might need me …."

"Of course he's going to need you, Alex …. But you won't be much help to him if you can't keep your eyes open. Go home …. Get some sleep and then come back tomorrow …."

"I'm fine …."

"Alex, nothing is going to happen right away …. These things take time. I can reach Zeus on his secure line at home, but if he decides it has to go to the rest of the Committee because of budget implications, then it will be at least twenty four hours before everyone can be contacted." He explained patiently.

"I know you want to be here, to know exactly what is going on …. But I can promise you that nothing will happen tonight. We are still collating reports from all our field agents …. Who knows we may get lucky …. But even then, a rescue operation is going to take time to plan and implement."

"And what about the ringer?"

"Mmmmm I've been thinking about that …." He gave her a coy smile. "There is _**one**_ thing that the real Stringfellow Hawke wants most in this life …." She tilted her head to one side, bird like and regarded him curiously. "The reason why he refused to give us a certain piece of government property back …." He smiled again. "Did he ever tell you about his brother?"

"St John."

"St John Hawke has been missing in action, in Vietnam, since 1969 …. Hawke made a deal with us that he would fly Airwolf on official government business, in exchange for information on St John's current whereabouts …. He is convinced that his brother is still alive, and that one day he will come home …."

"So you're going to give the ringer what the real Hawke wants? His brother?"

"Certain information, perhaps …. It's the only thing that will get me access to him, and not make Dominic Santini suspicious."

"You know when he finally finds out the truth about all of this, Mr Santini is going to want to go after Hawke …."

"Naturally …. But he can't …. Although he can handle Airwolf on his own, he would need someone in the rear seat …. And there is no-one else who knows as much about the weapons and guidance and defence systems on board Airwolf as Dominic Santini does …. Hawke is the hotshot pilot, but even he can't do everything on his own …. The pilot only has access to certain systems …."

She nodded, recalling perfectly well how Airwolf was set up, with the pilot having some limited access to the weapons systems from his seat, but the major weaponry was dealt with via the engineering section in the rear compartment.

"But it's a moot point; there is _**no**_ _**way**_ the Committee would allow Dominic Santini to fly into Soviet airspace in Airwolf …. He's not an official operative for the Firm either, so strictly speaking, he could tell the Committee what they can do with their decision …."

"But he's from the old school …. And when it is explained to him that, if he goes to the Soviet Union under his own steam, and something goes wrong …. He won't have any official back up …. If he gets injured, or shot down …. He will be handing Airwolf over to the Russians …. And maybe signing his own, and Hawke's death warrants …. And that _**that**_ is why there is no way the Committee will sanction a mission …."

"No matter how much he grouches …. He'll come to accept it in the end …. He's a reasonable man …. _**Sometimes**_ …. And this time he will just have to accept that he's sidelined …. Him and Airwolf …."

"And me too …." She sighed tiredly. "I wish there was something more I could do …." Tears welled up in her eyes then, and Archangel suspected that it had more to do with fatigue than anything else.

"I think you've done plenty already, Alex …. Hawke really does owe you his life …. If you hadn't acted on your doubts …. Suspicions …. I doubt there is another soul in this world who could have been quite so persuasive …. Perhaps with the exception of Dominic Santini …."

He watched her battle to stifle another yawn, rubbing absently at her brow with the other hand …. and this time he rose from the couch to reach out for the in house telephone.

"I'm calling for the limo to take you home …. No more arguments. You're practically dead on your feet, Alex …. Go home. Get a good night's sleep, if that's possible …. And I will arrange for the limo to pick you up at a reasonable time in the morning."

"And you'll call me …. If things start to move?"

"Of course I will …." He promised.

"All right …." She acquiesced then and uncoiled herself from the deep leather armchair, then crossed the room to give him a brief hug.

"Bring him home safely for me, Michael …." She spoke on a whisper, her voice trapped behind a lump of emotion in the back of her throat.

"That's the plan …." He returned her hug then, wanting to reassure her, but knowing that it was going to be far from plain sailing ….

"Thank you for listening to me rant on …."

"Thank you for persisting in the face of my indifference …. He's very lucky to have someone like you …."

"We're both lucky, Michael …. To have found each other again …. To have been given an opportunity to discover if what we felt fleetingly for each other back then was real …. Might become stronger …. Deeper …."

"I'm happy for you …. Both …. You know Alex, it might not appear that way, but I am very fond of Hawke …. But …. if you _**ever**_ tell him that, I will flatly deny it on a stack of Bibles ten feet high …." He chuckled then. "Come on …. I'll walk you down to the lobby." He slipped his arm around her waist them and gave her another quick squeeze of reassurance.

"Don't welch on me Michael …. If things start to move …."

"As if I would do such a thing …." The look she gave him told him exactly what she thought of that remark and he smiled. "Don't worry Alex …. Nothing is going to happen until you're here. You're Hawke's good luck charm …. If you're here, nothing can go wrong."

"Bless you, Michael …. And thank you, again."

They waited for a few moments for the elevator to arrive and then rode down to the lobby in silence, where they waited, briefly before the limo drew up outside.

Archangel saw Alex safely inside, then waved her off as the luxurious car drew silently and sedately away, before turning and leaning tiredly on his cane, he limped back into the glass fronted foyer, where he spotted Marella walking briskly toward him, purpose in her stride and a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"Tell me …." He invited as she joined him and together they walked back through the maze of corridors to the elevators.

"It's a long shot …."

"Tell me anyway …." He invited. "I could use some good news about now …."

"We got a message from Gypsy and Minstrel …." He frowned briefly, then recalled that these were the two deep cover agents that they had in the Soviet Union, the ones that Marella had seconded from other projects to look into Vladimir Sevchenko's home ground, the base in Siberia.

He recalled now, seeing sketchy reports that the General was back behind his desk and seemed rather pleased with himself, but apart from discovering that there was some kind of medical experimentation going on behind the scenes there, Gypsy had not been allowed enough access to the facility to find out any great detail about what was going on.

However, it seemed unlikely that the Russians were developing their own prototype Mach 1 Super helicopter ….

At least at that facility.

Marella's instincts had been good …. trying to discover what had prompted Sevchenko's trip to the West …. but it just hadn't panned out as she had hoped.

"Minstrel called in with an update at approximately nineteen hundred today …. But it only got translated a little while ago …. It seems that one of the subjects undergoing the medical experiments at the base is an American." She informed as they came to a halt at the bank of elevators.

"Oh?" He perked up at this piece of news, racking his brain to recall if there had been any reports, even the ones from NATO, of American service men going missing or AWOL from their posts anywhere in Europe ….

"Mmmm Gypsy had only seen him a couple of times, and they never had any opportunity to communicate before …. she isn't allowed to stay for the testing …. Which, by the way, she seems to think is some kind of reprogramming …."

"Brain washing?"

"Exactly …. Using very high strength, high dose psychotic drugs …. And torture …." Marella pulled a sour face. "There is one man that they seem to be particularly interested in …. concentrating their efforts on …." She continued, watching his face for a reaction but it was unreadable.

"They're keeping him separate from the other prisoners and well guarded. She also reports that they are keeping him as doped up as they can without killing him …." She informed with another sour look on her pretty face.

"Gypsy only has limited access …. Never allowed to be alone with him …. Just there to check that they haven't gone too far with the beatings or the drugs …. To assess whether he is up to still more of the same …." She continued in her usual professional manner.

"However, in the last couple of days she did manage to get enough time alone with him to glean that he's an American …."

"She's sure?

"Well …. It seems he pulled some kind of stunt …. Faked a seizure or something and they had to get her back to check him over. Seems he put on quite a little performance …." She grinned sheepishly then. "They're not sure what his real intentions were, he couldn't possibly know that she would understand him …. When he spoke perfect English with an American accent …. He asked her to help him …."

"Hawke …." He speculated aloud.

"Could be …." She gave him a hopeful smile then.

"It's not much to go on, true …. But it's still too much of a coincidence." He agreed with a deep sigh. "It makes as much sense that they would take him there as anywhere else …."

"It sounds just like the kind of thing he would do …." Archangel sighed exasperatedly. "Let's face it, he's not the type to just lay down and take it …. He might not be able to escape, but he would want to cause as much disruption and trouble for his captors as he could …." He smiled now.

"Yes …." She grinned in agreement. "I relayed a high priority message back asking them to confirm his description for us …. They're due to report in again at oh two thirty hours." She explained then.

"Good work …."Archangel gave her a genuine smile then. "You have good instincts, Marella …. You and Alex Beecham alike …. The two of you would make a formidable team …. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you guys …."

"Hell hath no fury, huh?"

"Than a woman in love?" He paraphrased.

"She really does love him, doesn't she." It was a statement, not a question.

"Guess somebody has to …." He grinned. "Never much fancied _**that**_ job myself …." He chuckled. "But I think she's woman enough to handle it …. C'mon, I think we have enough to rouse Zeus from his slumbers …." He summoned the elevator car. "So, we have an hour and a half before we get another update from Minstrel?"

"Yes, Sir."

"That should be enough time to work out some kind of plan …. If it is Hawke, at least we won't have to waste time getting people in place …."

"If it _**is**_ Hawke …." She hesitated just for a moment and he saw something akin to sympathy in her eyes then. "If it is him …. It sounds like he's in a pretty bad way …." She sighed softly.

"Then the sooner we extricate him, the better for everyone concerned …."

"Minstrel reported that whenever Gypsy has had contact with this man, she has been reducing the drugs they are using to try to break his mind …. To control him …. But contact has been infrequent, and every time she is assigned to another prisoner, he gets the higher dose of the drug again …. Seems he is quite smart and does have lucid moments, because he appears to have cottoned on to what she was doing, and that prompted him to ask her for help …. Of course, Gypsy didn't know that he was American before, but now that she does, she asked if she should actively intervene with the drug regime …. Just in case a rescue operation was on the card."

"Then we'll tell Minstrel to give Gypsy the go ahead …. It will go much better if Hawke has some awareness of what is going on around him …. Wouldn't want him fighting against us when we are trying to assist him …."

"I'll make sure the contact team are aware of that …." She confirmed solemnly then. "Sir …. You never did tell me why you didn't request that agents be transferred to Siberia …."

"I knew you had it under control …." He grinned coyly then. "One of the main reasons I hired you, Marella, was because you could act on your own initiative and didn't need me to keep telling you everything …. That and because you seem to have the uncanny ability to read my mind …." He grinned then and she smiled patiently at him.

"Now …. What did you come up with about St John Hawke?" He asked as the elevator car door swished open and they stepped inside together.

"Nothing new …. But as it doesn't have to actually be _**true**_ …. I think it is quite possible that Hawke senior could be resurrected and returned to the bosom of his family in just a few days from now …."

"Excellent …."

17


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Eight.

_**Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.**_

_**Sunday 8**__**th**__** July, 1984 - mid afternoon**_

Yana Petrova paced anxiously up and down the small room, nursing her sore upper arm as she watched Mischa Ivanov carefully setting up his transmitting equipment on the other side of the room. It was almost time to send their report to headquarters, partly in response to the urgent message that Mischa had received earlier in the day, and partly routine, and she was getting more and more nervous as each minute passed.

Mischa tried to suppress a smile.

He found her very amusing ….

_**Amongst other things …. **_

Which was perfect for their cover as lovers, meeting in his small apartment above the garage where he was currently working as a mechanic.

The garage was located in the small town about 20 kilometres away from the base, and Yana had used one of the staff jeeps to get herself here after her shift on duty at the base, and had managed to grab a few hours of precious sleep before he had roused her in time to make the transmission.

She had already written down most of the information required to be transmitted …. confirmation of the American man's description, as requested in the last communiqué they had received, but she had told him to hold off on the rest while she thought about what to say.

She had been madder than a dune bug when she had arrived, still upset by the pompous Captain who had threatened and intimidated her ….

But also very unnerved by the American prisoner's antics.

_**Idiot ….**_

She had seethed.

_**What did he think he was doing ….**_

_**Could he have been a bit more obvious for God's sake ….**_

_**What if Gregorovich had witnessed their exchange more closely ….**_

_**Grown suspicious …**_

_**Even more suspicious!**_

Mischa had let her pace and rant for several minutes, handing her a shot of Vodka which she had downed in one go without even thinking about it, then pulled a sour face as the alcohol slammed into her stomach and burned her throat, and had then given her a glass of hot tea to wash down the Vodka, smiling softly to himself as he tinkered with his radio equipment, and watched her expend her anger and disbelief in her continued pacing.

He could see the way her mind was working, a mile a minute ….

All the time pondering on whether the crazy prisoner had guessed that she was a fellow American ….

Maybe even guessed that she was an agent undercover ….

Or if he had just been playing a wild card ….

Playing for sympathy ….

But _**why **_would he think that she could understand him when he spoke _**English **_and she was meant to be Russian ….

Had she somehow telegraphed it to him ….

_**But how ….**_

She had been so damned careful ….

And she had been here so damned long that thinking in Russian was second nature to her ….

It was thinking in English that stumped her!

_**How could he have known!**_

_**Surely he had just been playing a hunch ….**_

_**He couldn't know ….**_

_**Could he?**_

_**No ….**_

_**He couldn't have known ….**_

_**In fact, she would put money on the fact that he hadn't thought about it at all …. He couldn't speak Russian, so he had banked on her understanding his Yankee accent and ranting on about being Americanski!**_

_**It had been a long shot ….**_

_**And he was one lucky SOB that it had paid off for him ….**_

_**Lucky that it had brought him a reprieve from the experimentation ….**_

_**Instead of getting him killed ….**_

He watched all of this flash through her mind as she paced and ranted, with amusement.

However, despite his amusement, Mischa understood her reaction.

It had been foolish and risky …. But for a man in his position ….

Wonderfully courageous and audacious.

Still …

If _**he**_ was on to her ….

Then it wouldn't be long before the Russians would be on to her too.

Yana's shock was understandable.

She had not considered that her actions might have those kinds of consequences.

She had merely been showing a little kindness and compassion to another human being ….

And a little Capitalist defiance ….

But …. she was right.

Dammit ….

They had to do _**something**_ about him ….

_**Before he blew her cover and got her ass shot off.**_

However, that was not something they could send in a routine flash report ….

He had waited for the alcohol to start having a soothing effect on her and then he had suggested that she at least lie down …. Even if sleep eluded her.

She had resisted, but in the end, the alcohol and weariness had finally won out and, anger expended at last, she had fallen asleep on the couch, where he had draped a thick crocheted shawl over her body as she snuggled up against the arm of the couch and the fat overstuffed cushion propped up against it.

She had slept soundly for at least three hours, but then hunger had awoken her and they had shared a light meal ….

Over which she had again begun to get worked up over the incident during the night.

Now as their deadline approached, she was prowling around like a lioness ….

A scowl on her pretty face, and anger evident in her ramrod straight back, and the wringing of her hands as she paced.

"Will you settle down, you'll wear a hole in the floor boards …." He told her with a chuckle. "At least the guy has balls …." She gave him a sour look at this remark and he grinned again. "You know what I mean …."

"You'll be grinning on the other side of your face if his …. _**Balls .…**_ Get us killed …." She snapped back. "I'm all for someone showing spirit …. But he just isn't in enough control of his thoughts or his emotions to realise the danger he could be putting both himself, and me in." She reminded him.

"Dammit, Mischa, he is a liability! And if someone doesn't make a decision soon, it will be too late …. Getting him out won't be an option, because he simply won't be in any fit condition to help us …. or to help himself …. Physically his condition is declining rapidly." She explained and paused to take a breath and a sip of a fresh cup of now cooling tea.

"They're feeding him next to nothing …. His clothes are so thin they can't be giving him much in the way of protection from the cold …. He's dehydrated and hypothermic …. They're keeping him isolated from every one and everything …. Sensory depravation they call it …. Just him, alone with his thoughts in a dark, silent, cold, tiny concrete cell …. If that didn't make him crazy to begin with, then the drugs, the lack of sleep and the beatings would just about put the icing on the cake …."

She grew solemn then.

"It's such a damned shame …. I guess under all that stubble and grime …. He's quite a handsome fella …."

"Ah ha! A rival …." He grinned at her.

"As if …." She stopped pacing for a moment, regarding him with sad dark grey eyes, and sighed impatiently at him when she saw the soppy look on his face.

"There is something in his eyes …. A passion to live …. Intelligence …. _**Sometimes …. **_The rest of the time …." She shrugged absently. "The rest of the time, he looks like he's off with the little people …. And good for him, if it's what is helping to keep him sane …." She let out another deep sigh. "Frankly I don't know how he's doing it …. But, one thing I am _**sure**_ of …. he can't hold out for much longer …."

"And, I've been thinking about it and I've come to the conclusion that he can't just be some ordinary Joe, stationed in Berlin or Great Britain …." She reasoned.

"He's _**too**_ important to them …. Dimitriov and Sevchenko check on his progress, personally, every day …. and every day they write up a higher dose of that damned poison they're pumping into him like its going out of fashion …. I tell you, Mischa, the things that they are doing to him are inhuman …." She paused then, a shudder running down her spine and a look of distaste and disgust clouding her pretty face.

She was quite a handsome woman, petite and slender, just past forty with dark grey eyes and the prettiest shade of red hair Mischa had ever seen.

But there was no doubt that in her case, appearances were deceptive.

She was a strong willed and stubborn woman.

With formidable powers of reasoning and perception and quick intelligence.

She could think on her feet and was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done ….

Not so much as flinching at the idea of having to take a life ….

To save a life ….

Or even to give her life ….

She could certainly look after herself ….

He did not doubt it.

But she was also warm and compassionate and kind and gentle and understanding and funny and sassy ….

And she had a temper to match that flame red hair ….

It was a real pleasure to work with her.

"If Control _**do**_ give us the go ahead to get him out of there …." Another shudder ran down her spine and he frowned at her then.

"That's not going to be pretty …." She pulled a sour face. "Getting him off the stuff …. He'll be in a worse mess than someone doing cold turkey to get off heroin …." She explained patiently then.

"It's pretty powerful and noxious stuff …. And he's been getting higher and higher doses …. Exposed to more and more of it …. When he stops getting it, he's going to get very sick and very unpredictable very soon …." She warned. "Nausea, disorientation, paranoia, hallucinations …. Geez …."

"Terrific …. That's why _**you**_ doctor, _**me**_ mechanic, you brains, me brawn …." He flexed his arm revealing a huge bicep muscle bulging under his thick plaid shirt while he grinned at her. "Me Tarzan, you Jane?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, resisting the temptation to thump his chest with his fists ….

But she chose to ignore his innuendo.

"I tell you, Mischa …." She grew serious then. "Killing him would be a merciful release …." She sighed deeply.

"Somehow I doubt _**he**_ would agree with you, Yana …. He seems to be doing his damnedest to cling to life …." He reminded her and she smiled softly back at him. "Just make sure you bring plenty of the knockout drops …."

"And then there's that damned man, Gregorovich …. I'm sure he is suspicious of me …. I don't think he likes my face …."

"And it is such a pretty face …." Mischa interjected, drawing a scowl from Petrova. "But my sweet, I think it has more to do with the fact that he _**does**_ like your pretty face …." He pointed out then.

_**And more besides ….**_

"I haven't done anything to attract attention to myself …." She wailed. "…. on the contrary, I've been trying to blend in with the décor …."

Mischa let out a shout of laughter at this.

"Fat chance …." He chuckled.

She was a very attractive woman, even if she herself did not recognise it and she would always stand out from the crowd ….

He could well understand the Russian Captain's interest in her ….

She gave him a pointed look and let out another deep sigh.

"The cold shoulder treatment just isn't going to work on him …. I can feel it." She sighed deeply. "He's not the kind to take no for an answer …. It's probably not even in his vocabulary …. I _**really**_ don't _**need**_ this, Mischa …. It's hard enough being careful and watching my back as it is, without having to constantly be on the look out for that damned predator …."

"Then perhaps I should have a word after all …." He suggested tactfully. Having never been the kind of man that attracted that kind of attention from the opposite sex, he could not empathise with Yana, although he understood that the man's unwanted advances were both frightening and frustrating.

"Thank you, Mischa, but I think that would probably just draw even more attention to me …. Besides, speaking of drawing attention …. our American friend isn't helping matters …. doing enough of that for both of us …. Americanski! Americanski!" She mimicked.

"He must think I am some soft hearted yokel who will fall for his charm if he just bats his big ole baby blue eyes at me, and promises me the recipe for his Mom's home made apple pie!"

"Give the guy a break, Yana …. In his mind, he is trying to do all that he can to survive …." Mischa reminded her gently. "You are probably the only one there who has shown him even the slightest kindness or consideration …."

"Mmmm. See what I get for my trouble …." But she was smiling softly at him now, to take some of the sting out of her words. "I will deal with Greogorvich, if I have to …. when the time is right …. Gladly …." She continued to smile at him.

Ivanov was a good man.

He had been the perfect gentleman and very polite and tolerant of her sometimes arrogant and high handed attitude.

Six feet and three inches tall, he towered over her, a big bear of a man with a bushy black beard streaked with grey, big brown doe eyes framed by long smoky lashes, and ruddy cheeks.

He was strong and solidly built.

He was steady and reliable.

And calm.

She trusted him.

She even found that she liked him ….

Just a little ….

Even though he had a tendency to take their cover _**too**_ literally some times.

Their cover was that they had been lovers for years and that when she had been transferred, he had quickly followed, finding the first job he could so that he could be close to her.

The two of them had spent as much time as they could together, when she was not required to work at the base, which as she was a civilian and not military personnel meant she had quite a bit of free time between shifts, and he had finished his shift at the garage.

They were becoming a familiar couple around the small town, which also played host, from time to time, to the soldiers and scientists from the base ….

Getting to know their new neighbours ….

Gaining peoples' trust ….

And learning all that they could about the base and the personnel stationed there, through local gossip.

Most of the locals were afraid to say too much ….

But others had some very weird ideas indeed about what they believed was going on at the base ….

_**UFO's ….**_

_**Alien autopsies ….**_

_**For crying out loud ….**_

"Ok …. I take your point, Yana …." He conceded. "But can't you see that it shows he has guts …. back bone …. That he is strong willed and determined not to give in. After all you've just told me, I think it's remarkable that he has enough wits left to have realised that you were trying to help him."

"It doesn't matter, Mischa …. The stuff they are pumping into him_** will**_ destroy him in the end …. No matter how hard he tries to fight it …. It _**will**_ eventually fry his brain …. and anything of the man that he used to be will be obliterated …." She told him candidly.

"Its lethal stuff, Mischa …. GKP …. whichever way you look at it …. If they use too much …. It overloads the brain …. There are some terrible side effects …. Irrational behaviour, violent mood swings and aggressive behaviour …. Just one drop too much can turn a man into an imbecile …. Retarded …. Make his brain implode …. Tip him over the edge into madness …."

"Do you think that they know that?"

"Probably not …."

"How do you know so damned much about it, anyway?"

"How do you think? You honestly think we'd let our friends play with stuff like that without having tried out something like it ourselves first?" She arched an eyebrow at him and he nodded in understanding.

Whatever the Russians had, the US had to have too, and vice versa ….

It made for a level playing field at least ….

"But I doubt that they would even care …. They seem so determined to either break him …. Or kill him …." She concluded.

"Seems to me, that you just made a pretty good argument for extricating him."

"I hope so, Mischa …."

"Despite what you just told me about what could happen …. The trouble and hard work it could cause for you?"

She nodded.

"There is _**something**_ about him …. Something …. Different …. Something that instinctively tells you that this man is important …. A presence …. An aura …. Something that tells you that this man is special …. That this man is worth saving."

"He must be something else to have made such an impression on you, Yana …. And, if he's _**that**_ important …. Then maybe Control will ask us to do just that …. Save him …."

"I hope so …. The other option is never very …. Pleasant …." Again she shuddered. "Besides, the fact that they _**are**_ going to so much trouble is good enough reason for me …. Anything to pee on their parade and slow them down …." She grinned then.

"They seem so determined to break him …. Or destroy him. I don't know what he did …. But he has sure pissed off someone royally …."

"It's time we were getting ready …. Have you decided what you want to add to this report?"

They had a time slot allocated in which they would transmit their message to another agent based in West Germany, who would then scramble their message and relay that signal on through another agent in the UK, who would also scramble the message and relay it on to the US where it would eventually be decoded and passed on to Control.

However, Ivanov's equipment was old and notoriously inefficient, and it often took them several attempts to make contact with their counterpart in the West.

"Mmmm. Take this down …."

_**Sunday 8**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of the Firm.**_

_**Committee Room – 03.00 Hours.**_

_**Flash:**_

_**Origin:**__** Siberia- USSR.**_

_**Log In Time:**__** 02.30 Pacific Standard Time.**_

_**From**__**: Minstrel.**_

_**Subject:**__** American captive. **_

_**Description:**_

_**Sex:**__** Male.**_

_**Ethnicity**__** - Caucasian.**_

_**Age:**__** Approx mid 30's.**_

_**Height:**__** Approx 5ft 11". **_

_**Weight:**__** Approx 160 – 170 pounds.**_

_**Hair:**__** Brown. **_

_**Eyes:**__** Blue.**_

_**Physique:**__** Slight, athletic and tanned.**_

_**Message:**_

_**Subject continues to undergo daily exposure to GKP. **_

_**Physical condition deteriorating rapidly, although remains spirited. **_

_**Could prove to be an inconvenience as is drawing attention to operative on the ground.**_

_**Request next step. Eliminate or extricate? Please confirm ASAP.**_

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III read the sheaf of paper handed to him by Marella and wore a thoughtful expression.

_**Interesting.**_

The description could certainly fit Hawke, but ….

There were thousands of American servicemen stationed in Europe with the exact same statistics ….

Always on the move, so no way of verifying that one of them had gone AWOL for personal reasons or had simply just not shown up where he should have been ….

And even if they didn't show up where they should have, it didn't mean that they weren't just dead drunk in a gutter some place ….

Tucked up in bed with some nice warm, fat whore ….

Had taken the wrong train and wound up in France or Spain ….

Or wound up in some rural European jail, with no money and a sore head, cooling their heels on a drunk and disorderly charge, and trying to figure out what they would tell their CO's so they could avoid a Court Martial ….

Or more importantly ….

Their wives ….

To avoid the divorce courts ….

_**It didn't mean that they had been spirited away by Russian agents.**_

It _**could**_ be Stringfellow Hawke ….

Or it could be someone else entirely ….

There was no way to be absolutely sure.

_**However ….**_

His gut was telling him that it almost certainly _**was **_Stringfellow Hawke.

Firstly, there was the location and the fact that it was the place where Sevchenko was based ….

And then the communiqué it's self ….

The way it was worded ….

Two things practically gave it away.

_**Spirited.**_

That was agent speak ….

Code for explaining that the man was making life as difficult for the people holding him captive as he could ….

And that was certainly Hawke's style ….

_**Giving them holy hell ….**_

Archangel sincerely hoped so ….

It was good to know that he still had some fight left in him.

Still had some fire in his belly ….

Not like the quiet, emotionless, insipid look-alike, who was currently ensconced in Dominic Santini's home ….

Biding his time ….

To do heaven knows what ….

The other thing ….

His drawing attention to Gypsy ….

If the man _**was**_ Hawke, and he had found someone he hoped might be sympathetic to him …. might help him to escape ….

If he had worked out that the lady doctor wasn't giving him the same amount of dope as the other doctors, and had decided that she was a good mark for helping him ….

A weak link ….

A soft touch ….

Someone who might be sympathetic to his plight ….

_**Yeah ….**_

_**That sounded like Hawke.**_

_**An irritant and a nuisance to the Russians ….**_

_**And a threat to the cover of two of the Firm's best agents in the Soviet Union.**_

He read the memo again and the frown he was wearing deepened.

_**GKP…. **_

_**What the hell was that ….**_

_**Some kind of new, experimental drug?**_

"Well, Archangel …." Zeus' weary voice carried over the speaker phone which was placed on the large round Committee table before Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, and he pulled his thoughts back to the present situation.

The telephone conference with his boss, Zeus.

"What does it say?"

"The description fits Hawke, Sir …. But …."

"It matches about half the guys in the Army, the Navy and the Air Force too, right? It could be him, but …. You can't be _**absolutely sure**_ …." Zeus sighed heavily.

"No, Sir …. Not absolutely sure …." Archangel agreed.

"But we can't take the risk that it _**is **_him, either …." Zeus mused.

_**These words were music to Archangel's ears.**_

"Ok …. Get him the hell out of there, Michael …. _**ASAP,**_ and if Minstrel and Gypsy can put our Red friends out of business up there, then even better still …. Nasty business, whatever it is they're doing …. Tinkering with a man's mind …. Personality …. Tell them to shut them the hell down if they can, but, remind them that their priority is getting Hawke out first …. Preferably alive …. Oh and Michael …. Keep that damned monster helicopter out of the picture …. And Santini with it …. Do I make myself clear on that? I think we're deep enough in the quagmire as it is without giving the Russians another target to aim at …."

"Sir …."

"Get it done, Michael …. And get it done soon. The longer they have him the more chance there is that he will crack under the pressure, and tell them what they want to know …. As for the look-alike …. what is it your English friend called him …"

"A ringer, Sir."

"Ah yes, as for the ringer …. You know what to do. Quickly and quietly …. No fuss, no muss …. Preferably without bloodshed, but, if there has to be any blood shed, make sure it's his and not one of our own …."

"Yes Sir …."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Nine.

_**Sunday 8th July, 1984.**_

_**Alexandra Beecham's Beach Home – 6.30am.**_

Alexandra Beecham came awake suddenly, unsure what had woken her ….

Tears pricking at her eyes and a sob stuck somewhere in her chest ….

Pillow clutched to her like a lifeline ….

Disorientated and unnerved ….

Left with the lingering feeling that she had been dreaming ….

And that that dream, although now elusive, had not been very pleasant in its content.

_**String ….**_

Her first thoughts were of the man that she loved ….

_**The subject of the dream?**_

_**Most likely ….**_

She let out a ragged sigh and kneaded her brow with her fingertips, to ease the pain which still lingered ….

The constant pain banging away inside her skull like a jack hammer, which had sent her straight to the medicine cabinet for Aspirin when she had returned home last night, but which had only eased as she had sunk deeper into much needed sleep ….

Returning now with a vengeance ….

_**There was no doubt about it, the headaches were getting worse …. **_

_**Happening much more frequently …. **_

_**And, with much more intensity ….**_

Tension headaches …. She told herself.

Brought on by stressful situations ….

When the current situation was resolved and String was home, safe and sound, things would get back to normal ….

She was sure of it ….

_**No point worrying ….**_

_**It would only make things worse ….**_

_**Add to the stress ….**_

_**No point dwelling on what else it could be either ….**_

_**Que Sera Sera …. **_

_**Whatever will be …. Will be ….**_

The limo had dropped her home a little before 2am and she had tumbled tiredly into bed after shedding her clothes ….

Only to lie watching the shadows dancing on the bedroom ceiling and listening to the motion of the surf against the shore, until 3.30am, her mind racing, working over time ….

Thinking about Archangel's pronouncement that she could have no part in rescuing the man that she loved ….

Because she wasn't an agent for the Firm ….

The same pronouncement he had made about Dominic Santini ….

Well ….

_**We'll see about that, Michael ….**_

If what she had learned about the man from String, was anything to go on, Dominic Santini would not be satisfied with just sitting back and letting someone else do the work ….

And maybe she could use that to her advantage ….

_**Archangel having unwittingly given her an idea ….**_

Unable to shake the dread that closed around her heart like a cold fist ….

That String would not make it back to the US alive, unless she was there ….

Still, three hours of fitful slumber were better than none at all …. She told herself as she rolled carefully out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

The shower helped ….

Especially the massage she gave to her scalp as she washed her hair under the fast running jet of hot water.

More Aspirin, downed with fresh orange juice and a piece of wholemeal toast would also help ….

She hoped ….

She donned underwear and a lightweight caftan and then headed to her small study, which was located at the back of the house, with its magnificent view of the beach and the ocean.

She stood at the French windows and sipped her orange juice, downing two Aspirin and then nibbled on her toast, not really tasting either, as she watched three young men, of about college age, making the best of the surf.

They were good ….

_**Really good ….**_

Sun bronzed, young and beautiful.

Not a care in the world and all their lives ahead of them ….

Alex found herself smiling.

_**You must be getting old ….**_

She grinned again ….

_**Compared to young people today, she had been born old ….**_

Had spent most of her life surrounded by older people …. The only child of elderly parents ….

_**It was bound to rub off a little ….**_

So she made up for it with her whacky sense of humour and the topsy turvy way she viewed the world ….

When the three young men showed signs of packing up for the day, Alex moved to her desk, sitting down in the old, comfortable chair and booting up her computer. There were no keepsakes or framed photographs cluttering the desk, indeed it had an almost sterile, impersonal appearance ….

The only people she would want likenesses of denied to her in this life ….

_**Her parents.**_

_**Stringfellow Hawke …**_

Well, maybe when all this was over and behind them, she could remedy that ….

A nice picture of String, Tet at his feet, maybe fishing line in his hand …. in a handsome frame would look wonderful on her desk.

While the computer was booting up, she turned around to a filing cabinet behind her, which had a false front, finding the mechanism that released the secret front panel, sliding open smoothly to reveal a small safe with a combination lock and a sturdy metal door behind it.

She turned the dial to enter the combination and heard the click as the lock released, and then she pulled out a plain looking small, oblong, metal box and set it down carefully on her desk before opening the top left hand drawer of the desk and popping the secret compartment at the back to locate the box's small key, which was threaded through a length of black cord.

The box contained her most precious possessions in all the world ….

If anyone knew that she had these ….

Well, it could make life very ….

Interesting ….

She had kept them locked safely away …. Fearing that she might never need them in the future ….

But now ….

She slipped the key into the tiny lock, but did not immediately open the box, instead she reached down to open the deeper bottom left hand drawer of the desk and withdrew a small silver box and various leads and electrical wires which she set about connecting to her computer ….

And then, when the computer beeped to acknowledge the installation of the new hardware device, Alex produced a simple floppy disk from the drawer and inserted it in to the drive on her computer monitor, then punched in a set of instructions that would load the software she needed onto her hard drive.

While the computer read the floppy disk and downloaded the new software, Alex opened up the small metal box to reveal a set of silver disks ….

Slim, barely a couple of millimetres thick, matt finished on one side and shiny on the other ….

And she smiled softly to herself.

These babies were the future ….

An incredible new invention that would revolutionise computing the world over ….

And other stuff too, if they could just get it right ….

But that wasn't why she had taken them out of their hiding place for the first time in over two years. Not even when she had moved here last September, had she been tempted to open this Pandora's box ….

A reminder of a past life that she did not need back then.

The new compact disk technology had been perfect for her needs and made storage so much easier.

Her best work ….

Saved for posterity ….

Burned into the silver disk by a tiny laser inside the special reader/scanner.

The most important thing she had ever produced in her life thus far ….

The computer bleeped again and flashed up a message on the black screen to announce that the software had finished loading and the cursor flashed insistently at the end of a question asking how she would like to proceed.

She hastily typed in a new set of commands, fingers dancing expertly over the keyboard, and the small drawer in the front of the new device she had installed slid open noiselessly, allowing her to carefully place one of the silver disks, matt side up in the drawer and then gave the drawer a gentle push to encourage it to withdraw, before it automatically carried the disk back into the reader/scanner.

Almost immediately her black screen was filled with brightly coloured technical drawings and readouts and schematics ….

Flashing up wiring drawings and blueprints ….

Layouts and command menus ….

_**Hello baby …**_

_**Good to see you again …..**_

Airwolf.

Alive again, on her computer screen.

Every piece of data that she had ever input into the mainframe at Red Star, and then into Airwolf's on board computer, backed up to these marvellous new disks ….

_**Just in case ….**_

She had no idea what had prompted her to do such an outrageous and dangerous thing ….

Sneaking the disks out of the lab late at night to hide them away some place no-one would ever think of ….

Alex ….

Or Tasha Banks as she had been, back then, had not really had any idea what she might use them for in the future ….

Only that she might work on them on her own, at home, try to improve upon them ….

But circumstances had changed and she had never had the chance.

Her only real motive to improve upon her work and her desire to preserve that hard work, lest anything should happen to the prototype Airwolf ….

But that wasn't all ….

She had also saved every piece of data that she had input into the flight simulator too, and then programmed into Airwolf herself, so that the pilot would have access to the way other pilots had handled similar situations ….

Including every simulator flight that she had sent Stringfellow Hawke on.

As the cursor continued to wink on the command menu screen, Alex caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it thoughtfully.

She had never dreamed that she might actually get to fly _**in**_ Airwolf ….

Much less that she might ever be given the opportunity to pilot her ….

Even on a test flight ….

But with the data stored on these miraculous disks, she had been able to relive Hawke's flights, test her abilities against his …. find his strengths and weaknesses ….

And match them with her own.

She _**had **_flown Airwolf ….

Felt the power and the speed and the manoeuvrability ….

Without having gotten off the ground ….

In virtual reality ….

And as a result, she had been able to devise some wicked simulator flights to test his mettle ….

And he had been truly amazing ….

Always rising to the challenge ….

She had learned a lot from his style of flying ….

His panache ….

His quick wits ….

The way his mind worked ….

And she had been able to use the simulator flight data to hone her own piloting skills ….

The way Hawke flew Airwolf, his skill and flare, his rapport with the machine, had also influenced the way that Tasha Banks had programmed some of the other systems on board Airwolf ….

And now, as she took in a deep breath and glanced at the small clock on the mantle over the ornamental fireplace …. Her fingers automatically danced over the keyboard to enter the commands that she needed to bring up the engineering schematics and systems.

It was seven o'clock ….

The limo driver had told her that he would return to collect her at noon as per Archangel's instructions, so that gave her a little over three hours to refresh her memory ….

Before she needed to get dressed.

Was three hours enough?

It would have to be ….

At least it would give her a heads up ….

And then ….

_**Wait and see ….**_

_**Oh Michael …. **_

_**You and Stringfellow Hawke are not the only one with secrets ….**_

_**Watch and learn ….**_

_**Sunday 8th July, 1984.**_

_**Dominic Santini's residence.**_

_**Van Nuys, California- 8.15am.**_

Dominic Santini absently reached out to answer the telephone on the third ring as he waited for the bread he had put into the toaster to pop up. Stringfellow Hawke was sitting at the small table in the sunny kitchen, staring at the small portable TV and sucking on a glass of apple juice.

"Santini …."

"Good morning, Dominic …." Michael Coldsmith Briggs III's familiar voice echoed down the line.

"Oh, it's you …." Dominic muttered darkly as he spotted smoke beginning to rise out of the toaster, and hastily reached out to pop the button that would eject the blackened bread, whilst trying not to drop the telephone receiver.

"You don't have to sound so pleased to hear from me, Dominic …." Archangel drawled. "How is Hawke today?"

"He's ok …."

"No, Dominic …. How _**is**_ he?"

"About the same, I guess …." Santini sighed deeply, watching his young companion absently twiddling his straw between his fingers, still eyes fixed absently on the flickering television screen.

"Do you think he's up to a visit to the office?"

"Why?" Santini caught himself frowning suspiciously.

"There is something I need to talk to him about …." Archangel grew coy then.

"Today?"

"Preferably …."

"We were going to go to the airfield …. Still have stuff to catch up on. Can't you tell me what it is and I'll ask him if he feels up to it?"

"No, Dominic …. I don't really think this is something that we can do over the telephone .… You see …." He paused for effect. "…. it's about St John …."

"Oh …. Hell …." Santini cursed softly. "Great timing …."

"That can't be helped, Dominic …. And I knew Hawke would want this information as soon as possible. As it is Sunday, the office will be quiet …. I can devote as much time to him as he needs, to digest the information. Answer any of his questions …."

"Gee, Michael, the guy can't even ask the way to the bathroom right now …. How do you think he's going to ask questions? Sign Language?"

"He can write, can't he? I thought that was how the two of you were communicating right now …." Archangel pointed out.

"Touché …. Can't you at least give me a hint?"

"No, Dominic …."

"Geez, Michael …. No one could ever accuse you of giving much away, could they …."

"Thank you, Dominic …." Archangel chuckled, taking the older man's words as a compliment, although he knew that that was not how they had been meant. "Will you bring him, Dominic, or should I send Marella?"

"Of course I'll bring him …. You don't think I would let him face news about his brother on his own …. Especially with him being this way and all …. And especially if it ain't good news …." He fished.

"Oh come now, Dominic …. You can do better than that …."

"But why should I waste my breath, you won't tell me anything anyway, will you …." He sighed deeply then. "Just promise me there won't be any funny business with doctors …." He intoned suspiciously. "I know you've been wanting to get those busy body head shrinkers of yours to take a look at him …."

"Take it easy, Dominic …. It's nothing like that …." Archangel reassured. "I am sure that you will find what we have to say …. Very interesting …. and enlightening …."

"Subtle, Michael, very subtle …. Ok …. Any particular time you want we should come?"

"Make it lunch time, around one o'clock …. And I'll even lay on refreshments."

"Get you …. Last of the big spenders …. Ok …. One o'clock it is …. That still gives us a couple of hours at the hangar …."

"Why don't you take a well deserved break, Dom …. I'm sure that there isn't anything there that can't wait until tomorrow …."

"Says you …" But he was sorely tempted.

If he was honest, the extra work load was starting to catch up with him.

It would be nice just to laze around the house for a couple of hours, maybe catch up on some chores that had been backing up ….

Like the pile of unwashed clothes that was sitting in the corner of the laundry room just waiting to be sorted and put into the machine.

"Can't you even give me a clue, Michael …."

"See you later, Dominic …."

"One tiny, little clue …." But the line went dead in his ear.

Dominic Santini set down the telephone receiver and regarded his young friend for a moment, wondering if he really was up to receiving the kind of information that Archangel might have ….

Sitting there, face completely devoid of any kind of emotion ….

Blank ….

Who knew what was going on behind those cold, dead eyes ….

Dominic Santini let out another soft sigh and retrieved the blackened bread from the toaster, moving over to the sink to scrape off as many of the charred bits as he could, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he did so, but he had no other choice, they were the last two slices of bread left in the house …. before opening the refrigerator to pull out the butter.

He thought about the telephone conversation again as he spread first butter, and then a thick slavering of strawberry preserve onto the charred bread, to disguise the burnt flavour ….

St John ….

What the hell was that all about anyway ….

After all this time ….

And why they hell couldn't Michael just spit it out ….

Give him a chance to prepare the young man, and himself, for whatever was to come ….

Instead of dangling it under his nose, like a carrot ….

Good news ….

News that St John was alive and maybe on his way home, would probably send the young man into a tail spin ….

Wanting to dash off out there and bring him home himself ….

Might even get a hint of emotion out of him at last ….

On the other hand ….

Bad news ….

News that St John was dead ….

Gone ….

Being shipped home in a body bag ….

News like that might just destroy his young friend ….

Sending him tumbling over the precipice into oblivion ….

_**Damn ….**_

Why did it have to happen now?

Why did it never rain until it poured?

Why dammit?

_**Why now?**_

Hadn't Hawke been through enough already?

_**Please God …. **_

_**Don't let it be bad news ….**_

_**Please ….**_

_**Please ….**_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Ten.

_**Sunday 8th July, 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Michael Coldsmith Briggs III's Office – 8.20am**_

"Everything set?" Archangel asked Marella as she walked purposefully into his office, just as he was ending the call to Dominic Santini.

"Yes Sir …." She confirmed with a gentle smile.

He looked tired and a bit rumpled after spending a couple of hours dozing on the couch upstairs in the penthouse and his chin was covered in a smattering of dark blond whiskers, but they would not be there for very long, when he found out his electric shaver and used the mirror in the bathroom down the hall.

"Dr Williams has been advised that I am going to brief him about the situation at nine o'clock …. and I finally got him to agree to allow me to sit in as an observer …. As a professional courtesy …."

"That's big of him …." Archangel sighed and Marella could not help smiling.

She had made the suggestion that she sit in and watch the interaction between Archangel and the 'impostor' Hawke ….

Archangel had agreed ….

Realising that two pairs of eyes were better than one ….

But, he had insisted that _**she**_ be the one to tell the Chief Psychologist on the medical staff here at Knightsbridge.

"What should I do with Alex when she arrives?" Marella asked now, a gentle reminder that the young woman would be returning later in the morning, and would no doubt expect an update.

"You could bring her in here if you like …. Just don't let her anywhere near Hawke and Santini …. At least not until the show is over …."

"What about Dominic Santini?"

"Let him wait in reception, or put him in your office and let him cool his heels for a while …. I don't care what you do with either of them, just keep them apart until I'm ready for them …."

"Affirmative, Sir …. Oh and I organised lunch up in the penthouse suite …. As you requested."

"Thank you …." He gave her an appreciative look then. "You'll join us, of course."

"Thank you, Sir …."

"And you're working on the St John Hawke material …."

"Yes Sir …. It will be in perfect order in time for your …. Appointment with Hawke …."

"Anything else from Gypsy and Minstrel?"

"They confirmed receipt of their new orders in a flash report at 07.00 hours this morning. They will confirm their plans in their regular flash at 02.30hours …. Sir …. I was looking at the terrain around there, and even if they get Hawke out safely, it's a hell of a long way to any place that we could safely retrieve him …." She pointed out.

"My hunch is that they will head west, for the coast …. Maybe Magadan on the Sea of Okhotsk or stay further in land and try for Yukutsk on the River Lena …."

"Which?"

"My guess would be Magadan …. It's a mining town and very remote …. That way any team we sent in to pick Hawke up wouldn't have to penetrate too deeply into Russian territory …. Be easier to get in and out quickly and safely …." Marella pointed out, knowing that these things would also be major considerations for Gypsy and Minstrel in their planning of their escape route.

"We could deploy a carrier to the Bering Sea …. Tell the Russians that it's just a routine patrol, war games, cold weather training …. Something like that …. We could fuel up a chopper to make the trip to the mainland then get it to refuel on the carrier and make the trip back to the States …."

"But we both know that Airwolf would be a much faster and more efficient option …."

"Yes Sir …." She smiled, pleased that he had followed her line of thinking.

"Too bad we can't use her …. Even if I could over rule Zeus …." Marella nodded then.

"In that case …. With the journey over land from Siberia to the Russian Far East coast, and then by chopper to a carrier, where the medics can check him over, and then back to the US mainland, to land maybe at Eielson Airbase near Fairbanks, Alaska, or say, Elmendorf, near Anchorage …. I figure it's going to be at least a week before Hawke gets here …."

"A week!"

"Yes Sir …. It's a heck of a long way from Siberia to The Russian Far East, in an army truck or jeep …. And if they are forced to use a domestic vehicle …. it could be neigh on impossible …." She explained patiently for him.

"And if Hawke is de-toxing from the GKP …. Gypsy isn't going to want to be trundling through the mountains with a very sick, very aggressive and possibly violent and uncooperative man in back …." She added for good measure.

"Tell me about this GKP …." Archangel invited.

"Not much to tell …. Similar to something we were playing around with a couple of years ago, something so new and radical it didn't even have a name or designation …." She paused to take a breath and he watched her with interest. "Agent XYZ …."

He had no idea how she had come by this information ….

And so quickly too ….

And if he were honest, he really didn't care ….

It was simply another reason why he had hired her over the other best …. man …. for the job ….

Her ability to get straight to the heart of the matter ….

And her medical knowledge and her contacts in the medical community didn't hurt either ….

"But we soon discovered that, although you could get some very good results, re-programme the subject, convince him that he was someone completely different …. And had never been anyone else …. And then get him to do almost anything, without a qualm …. Without recollection or conscience …. The subject soon became volatile and unpredictable if you gave him or her so much as a microgram too much …. It destroys the nervous system and brain synapses …. Fries the brain …. Was how it was described to me, Sir …."

"Charming …." Archangel pulled a sour face. "You'd better tell me the worst of it …."

"At best it would only be a guess, Sir …." She pointed out but he waved his hand at her to continue, then used it to scratch at the stubble on his chin, which was obviously irritating him.

"It seems that the drug affects each individual differently, depending on their age …. physique …. Height, weight, and so forth …. Exposure to the drug, the dose given and the frequency of the treatments, and their general health when the treatments began …. Their health during the treatments …. Their mental strengths …. Or weaknesses …." She reeled off.

"Generalise then …. I need to know …. So that I can prepare the team that retrieves Hawke …. And the medics who will need to attend to him when he gets back into our hands …."

"It's a narcotic, Sir …. And de-toxing from any narcotic is not pretty …. Nausea, vomiting, hallucinations, chills, sweating, palpitations, stomach cramps and general pain all over the body. Physical weakness …. Little or no emotional control. Delirium, distress, paranoia …. Disorientation …." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"And for a fit, young man, like Hawke?" Archangel probed.

"He's been exposed to it for more than a month already, Sir and Gypsy said in that last communiqué that his physical condition was worsening …. He's probably been beaten, starved and denied water and sleep, and that will weaken his body …. And if the Russians have kept him isolated …. As is their usual practice …. Alone, in a cold, dark cell with no stimuli …. It's incredible that his mind hasn't already broken …." He saw her shudder and realised just how bad it might be ….

Marella was not a woman prone to exaggeration.

She was just telling him how it was ….

As he had requested.

"In other words he's going to be a mess …." Archangel sighed deeply.

"That's putting it mildly …." She confirmed. "And hard to control …. Maybe beyond reasoning with …. He's not going to be sure who he can trust …. Maybe even try to escape from Gypsy and Minstrel, figuring that his rescue is all part of the Russians plan …. To trick him into co-operating …. You know how stubborn and independent Hawke is …. Well GKP isn't going to make any difference to that …. Might even make him even more determined to get away from them …."

"Its risky taking him out and cutting off his access to the drug completely, but reducing the dose can also be just as risky …. But we know we can't leave him there any longer …." She sighed softly.

"He has been lucky so far …. Fortunate that Gypsy knew what she was doing and was able to judge just how much to reduce the dose by …. If we leave him any longer, we run the risk that they will up the dose just that little bit too much, and kill him …. But …. Rescuing him and forcing him to go cold turkey …. Well, it isn't going to be pleasant …. for anyone, Sir …."

"Or for the folks who have to pick him up and bring him home …." Archangel sighed again. "Damn …."

"Hopefully by the time we get him back here he will be over the worst of it …. But Gypsy will definitely have her hands full …. That's why they will have to take their time getting across Russia …. Maybe even have to hole up somewhere for a few days, until Hawke is strong enough to travel …."

"But a week …."

"I know …."

"I thought maybe a couple of days …."

"They won't take any longer than is necessary, but they also won't want to take any chances …. Draw attention to themselves …. The easiest way to get caught is to have a sick man, distrustful and not completely in control of his emotions, working against them, in the back of their transport …. They'll want to take back roads, with little chance of running into any other traffic …. And we're talking rough terrain Sir, not I95 or Route 66 …."

"I get the picture, Marella …."

"Then maybe we should reconsider …. Using Airwolf …." She suggested hopefully.

"No …. You heard what Zeus said …. Keep that monster helicopter, and Dominic Santini out of it …. He's right …. We can't afford to lose either of them and that is what we would be risking, if we let Santini go alone …. Hawke wouldn't thank us for it …."

"No Sir …. I guess not …."

Marella tried hard to hide her disappointment, but Archangel saw her expression and smiled.

"I agree it makes sense …. But, without anyone to man the engineering systems …. He'd be a sitting duck …."

"Yes, Sir …. I'd better go get ready for my briefing with Dr Williams …."

She knew that he was right ….

However, it wasn't going to help Hawke ….

Delaying his return to their medical facility, where they could begin to assess his condition and begin the process of reversing whatever it was the Russians had been trying to do.

"Marella …. If there was a way …."

"I know Sir …." She smiled softly. "I know …." Then she turned on her heels and quietly took her leave, leaving him to ponder on Hawke's predicament and what they could do to improve the odds of getting him back in one piece.

_**Sunday 8th July, 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Michael Coldsmith Briggs III's Office – 12.50pm**_

When she arrived at Knightsbridge, Alex Beecham was surprised to be greeted by a stranger as she stepped out of the limousine, a young brunette clad from head to foot in white, who informed her that both Marella and Archangel were presently involved in meetings and could not be disturbed, but that they were aware that she would be returning and they planned to join her for lunch when their meetings concluded.

The young agent escorted Alex to Archangel's office where she made herself comfortable and waited, all the time wondering if the meetings that were keeping Marella and Michael occupied this morning had something to do with Stringfellow Hawke ….

In truth, Alex was glad to have a little time to herself, to clear her head.

She had spent the best part of three hours in front of her computer, refreshing her memory on Airwolf's systems and her head was pounding even more than it had been before she started.

She knew she looked like a wreck, her face pale and lined with fatigue and her eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep, and staring at the graphics that had danced across the computer screen.

However, she felt confident in her ability to recall where every switch and button and firing system was located in the engineering section.

She knew that given the chance, she could operate those systems as well as anyone ….

Even Dominic Santini ….

She stifled a yawn with her fist and sat quietly, looking around the office at the good quality furniture and the plain, bare walls ….

No artwork here ….

And thought about Stringfellow Hawke ….

Silently praying that he was alive and well and hanging onto the knowledge that she loved him with all her heart ….

Finding paper and a pen lying on the desk, Alex Beecham took up the pen and began nibbling on the end of it as she set about composing her thoughts and her feelings about the man that she loved ….

Pouring out her heart to him ….

Just in case things did not turn out quite as they anticipated ….

If Archangel accepted her proposal ….

She wanted Stringfellow Hawke to know exactly how she felt, and exactly what she expected of him, and with silent tears coursing down her ashen face, Alex Beecham began to write.

_**Knightsbridge - Headquarters of The Firm.**_

At precisely five minutes before one, Dominic Santini checked in with the gate guard at Knightsbridge and was directed toward the main building, where he was told that he would be met and escorted into the building.

Beside him, in the passenger seat of the jeep, Stringfellow Hawke remained quiet and impassive, his face an emotionless mask as he watched Dominic deal with the gate guard, and then took an interest in the passing scenery as they drove down the winding tree lined driveway to the main building.

As he threw his silent companion a sideways glance, Dominic Santini could have sworn from the strange yet curious expression on his face, that the guy had never been here before, but of course, that was ridiculous, the two of them had been here many times in the past few months ….

He shrugged it off, knowing that String must have a lot on his mind ….

And no way to express it verbally.

When Dominic had told him about their lunch appointment and the fact that Archangel had news for him, about St John, Dominic had been surprised by the younger man's lack of reaction.

He seemed to take it very calmly.

_**Too calmly.**_

Although there was something ….

At the mention of Michael's name ….

Just a flicker ….

Some spark of interest in those blue eyes that had otherwise been so empty and lifeless.

After that, Hawke had perked up a little.

He had seemed to be a little more alert, reacting to Dominic's quips with a forced smile, although still trying to hide the metal wires keeping his teeth firmly secured and Dominic found himself wondering if they had finally turned a corner, and that the mention of his brother ….

And maybe the thought that they would discover something positive about his whereabouts and his present state of health, had brought the younger man out of his trance ….

He certainly seemed more aware of things going on around him.

Even curious.

Dominic saw it as a good sign ….

And offered up a silent prayer that it would last ….

That finally the young man would begin to come around ….

Be more like his old self.

When they arrived at the main building and Dominic had parked the jeep in the main parking lot, they walked to the front entrance and were greeted by an agent that Dominic did not recognise, and were promptly informed that Archangel was in a meeting.

"If you care to follow me …." The young brunette invited with a cool but polite smile. "I don't believe that the meeting will take much longer …."

The two men followed the young brunette through the twisting corridors of a surprisingly deserted Knightsbridge, and into the elevator, stepping off on the floor where Archangel's office was located, but were quickly led in the opposite direction.

The young agent came to a stop outside a closed door and opening it said.

"If you would care to wait inside, Mr Santini …. Mr Hawke, I will take you to Archangel …."

"Hey …. Can't I go with him?" Santini remonstrated.

"My instructions were to ask you to stay here, Mr Santini …. Whatever the meeting is about, it is for Mr Hawke's ears only …." She gave him another cool, but polite smile and held the door open for Dominic Santini, who threw Hawke a pained look of frustration and apology and entered the office, sitting down heavily in a small, cramped chair which barely accommodated his bulk.

"I'll be right here, kid …. Don't take any crap, Ok." He called out into the corridor as Hawke made to follow the young woman.

Stringfellow Hawke nodded gently and then began to walk down the corridor after the brunette.

"Geez, I'd forgotten just how much I hate all this cloak and dagger stuff …." Dominic mumbled to himself, glancing around the stark office, no hint in its décor as to its owner, and no sign on the door. _"Whatever the meeting is about it is for Mr Hawke's ears only …._" He mimicked the young woman in a falsetto voice and then let out another deep sigh.

Only one thing for it.

Settle down and wait.

All would be revealed soon enough.

_**Sunday 8th July, 1984.**_

_**Knightsbridge – Headquarters of The Firm.**_

_**Interview room – 1.05pm.**_

Marella sat quietly beside Dr Nathan Williams, Chief Psychologist on staff with the Knightsbridge medical team, and watched the occupant of the room on the other side of the two way mirror.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III was shuffling through papers as he sat at a large oval shaped table, and awaited the arrival of Stringfellow Hawke. Main reception had buzzed up on the internal phone system to say that he and Dominic Santini had arrived and that Agent Bentley would be bringing Hawke to meet with Archangel shortly.

Dr Nathan Williams was a dour man, mid forties with a receding hairline, he did not smile, did not joke …. Did not seem to possess a sense of humour at all, in fact, and had not been very keen on the idea, when Marella had briefed him about this meeting, and that she would be sitting in on it.

However, he had remained polite and had listened to her salient points, scribbling notes down on a lined pad, and Marella sensed that he had gotten the gist of what they were here for.

Everything was ready, and the main players would soon be brought together ….

Over the intercom linking the two rooms, Marella heard a sharp rap at the door and focused her attention on the door as it opened inwardly, and in stepped the man they all knew as Stringfellow Hawke.

Marella was surprised by what she saw.

She hadn't seen Hawke since that day in the hospital, but he looked to have lost a lot of weight and muscle tone in the ensuing weeks ….

She watched as he awkwardly …. Almost reluctantly, she noted with puzzlement …. shook hands with Archangel and sat down nervously in the chair provided for him.

Marella tried to focus her attention on his face ….

More importantly, his eyes ….

That was supposedly what had tipped off Alex Beecham ….

Lifeless.

Empty.

No soul ….

Hawke's eyes were the most incredible blue that Marella had ever seen, a deep, china blue, like gazing into the depths of a still, calm ocean ….

However, with the tinted effect of the two way mirror distorting the colour and preventing her from getting a really close look ….

She could not be sure ….

If it were just a matter of believing what she was _**seeing**_ ….

She would not have doubted for a moment that this was indeed Stringfellow Hawke ….

And she was amazed and shocked by the perfect resemblance.

No wonder they had all been fooled.

All except, Alex ….

_**Love wasn't so blind after all ….**_

Marella and Dr Williams had agreed that she would watch Hawke and he would watch Archangel, unless of course she spotted something that did not look or feel right, and then he would also watch Hawke.

Now the meeting on the other side of the two way mirror began, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III making polite chit chat about Hawke's health, briefly, before drawing the file on the table a little closer and flicking it open.

A pad and pencil had been placed on the table in front of Hawke so that he could write down any queries he might have, however, he made no effort to pick up the pencil as Archangel began to inform him that new intelligence had just come in, indicating that St John Hawke could indeed still be alive, and was possibly being held hostage in a prisoner of war camp on the border with Laos, where a Vietnamese war Lord had kept men whom he thought might be of some use to him financially, since the beginning of the war with America.

Some men had been ransomed, others had been killed and their bodies returned when the ransoms had not been paid, some had even been released, only to be quickly recaptured and offered up for auction as slave labour to other warlords in the area.

It was, of course, all a complete fabrication, and the real Stringfellow Hawke would have seen through it immediately, because he had heard it all before from that cold hearted English mercenary, Peter McGregor Moore, when he had lured him out to the disused airfield at Crofton, when Moore had been involved with the East German's in their bid to make Hawke believe that he had been in that coma for almost a year ….

But this fellow just sat, trying not to look at Archangel, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact and glancing around the room nervously.

Keeping his right arm close to his body ….

This made Marella frown.

She couldn't help feeling that the man didn't seem at all happy to be so close to Archangel ….

Alone in the same room with him ….

Almost as though he were trapped ….

As Marella watched him more closely, she became more and more aware of his body language, the rigid way he was sitting, the nervous way his hands were folding and unfolding on the table before him ….

And she suddenly had an inkling as to how Alex Beecham had felt in his presence ….

How Dominic Santini must also have felt ….

There was definitely something not right about the man ….

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she scribbled a note hastily on a piece of paper and passed it to her colleague, Dr Williams who turned his attention to Hawke and after a few moments, nodded his understanding and agreement that all was indeed not well there ….

He scribbled down two words on another piece of paper and Marella glanced down at the paper and nodded.

_**Fight or flight.**_

She would bet any money that the real Stringfellow Hawke would put up his dukes and fight ….

But this fellow ….

No ….

Her money was on him trying to get away.

And taking down as many people as he needed until he was safely out of the building and away from here ….

She could see a hint of desperation in those eyes now as they darted around the room, seeking inspiration no doubt ….

And something else ….

Something that made him even more dangerous ….

_**Fear ….**_

_**And panic ….**_

She reached out for the internal telephone and placed a call summoning a security detail to position its self outside the interview room ….

A routine procedure that she had discussed and prearranged with Archangel, should she fear for his safety at any time ….

Marella was beginning to suspect that whatever this man had been programmed for ….

It had absolutely _**nothing**_ to do with Airwolf ….

_**But a whole helluva lot to do with Michael Coldsmith Briggs III.**_

She also couldn't help feeling that there was something else ….

What was it ….

_**What the hell was it!**_

The man known as Hawke could barely keep still, his eyes darting around the room seeking some kind of escape route other than the main door, but there was none, and his tight expression had nothing to do with the metalwork securing his jaws together.

He looked more and more like a cornered animal, and even Archangel was beginning to notice that something was amiss ….

This was most definitely not the tightly controlled, poised and cold hearted Stringfellow Hawke that he had come to know and like ….

Hawke had a short fuse ….

And when he blew, it was like a volcano going up ….

What Archangel had to tell him now should have had him jumping for joy …. His brother, missing presumed dead all these years, finally located and one step closer to coming home to the bosom of his family ….

Hawke should have been ecstatic.

Instead, he was a nervous, twitching wreck ….

Almost as though he were uncomfortable in his own skin …. Archangel noted with an ominous shiver running down his own spine ….

Stumbling over his narration now as he also began to sense that something was not quite right about the man seated opposite him ….

Glancing nervously at the two way mirror, as though seeking guidance from beyond ….

Suddenly, eyes wide and a shocked and startled expression on her face, the usually unflappable Marella, was out of her seat, and dashing toward the door, grabbing a file from off the desk as she went, her heart in her mouth as she realised what it was about the impostor Hawke that had been bothering her.

"What the hell …. Where are you going?" Dr Williams demanded of her, a perplexed expression on his face as he watched her move swiftly toward the door.

"I'm going in there …."

"That's not part of the plan …." He bristled.

"Forget the plan, Dr Williams …. I'm going to go in there …. try to distract him …." Marella explained hurriedly.

_**Dammit ….**_

_**She knew what it was now ….**_

Why the hell hadn't they had him frisked at the front door ….

Because even the _**real **_Hawke wouldn't have been greeted by agents wanting to search him for concealed weapons ….

And that would have made him suspicious straight away …. alerted him to the fact that they were on to him ….

_**Dammit ….**_

It was all there in his body language ….

The way he was sitting ….

Holding himself ….

Why hadn't she realised sooner!

_**He had a weapon …**_

_**Dammit …..**_

_**He had a gun ….**_

Marella was sure of it ….

And it all became clear to her in that instant ….

His mission in the US hadn't been to get Airwolf after all ….

_**But to take out the Deputy Director of Special Projects for The Firm ….**_

"But …. But …." Williams stammered.

"Look dammit, I don't have time to debate this with you …. I'm going in there and trying to distract him …. Maybe hold him up …. Until the security detail arrive. You, Dr Williams, are going to get on the house telephone and tell them to get their asses up here _**ASAP**_, do you understand?" She glared at him anxiously.

"Yes …. Yes …." He was already reaching out for the telephone on the desk as she dashed out of the door, hurrying out in to the corridor and then pulling up abruptly outside the door to the room that housed Archangel and the impostor Hawke.

Marella forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to compose herself, knowing that if she arrived breathless and looking flustered, she would tip the impostor off that they were on to him.

She had to make this look as normal and as natural as possible ….

Be calm.

Be cool

Be professional ….

_**Dammit ….**_

_**Where the hell were the security team ….**_

Her heart was doing somersaults against her ribs and her hand was trembling as she reached out to knock and then took the handle and opened the door, stepping inside the room ….

"Here is the rest of the information that you requested, Sir …." She held out the file to Archangel hoping that he would not comment on this breach in their prearranged plan.

"I'm sorry it took so long …." She inched closer to Archangel, noting the somewhat startled look on his face at her interruption ….

Trying to place herself between her boss and the impostor Hawke and giving him a look which she hoped conveyed what she was about to try to do and begged him to run with the ball ….

"Satellite photos took longer to process than we expected …. _**He's got a gun!**_"

She suddenly launched herself at the impostor Hawke, but he was quicker, grabbing at her as she made to karate kick the weapon that was suddenly in his hand, and turning her around so that in the blink of an eye, he had her arm twisted viciously way up behind her back and a shiny silver gun pointed directly at the side of her head.

"Hawke!" Archangel shouted, but the other man shook his head, breathing hard through his nose as the exertion had caused him to get breathless and he couldn't breathe through his mouth.

"Ok …. Whoever the hell you are …. You don't have to do this …. It doesn't have to happen this way …." He encouraged. "Let her go, and I will guarantee that you can walk out of here …."

Again the impostor Hawke shook his head.

"Then take me in her place …."

"No, Michael …." Marella shrieked and the impostor thrust the gun harder against her temple and yanked on her bent arm, pulling it further up her back, to quieten her.

He then began to wave the gun at Archangel, indicating that the man in the white suit should go out into the corridor ahead of him and Marella ….

To act as a shield ….

As the small group emerged into the corridor, they could hear the sound of fast approaching, pounding feet, on the polished tiled floor ….

The security team that Marella had summoned.

Four men suddenly came flying around the far corner and immediately fell to their knees, weapons drawn and raised, pointing at the impostor.

"_**Freeze!"**_

"_**Drop your weapon!"**_

"_**Let the girl go …. Let the girl go!"**_

"_**Do as you are told, or I will shoot you …."**_

As the lead security officer made to move forward, the impostor Hawke took the gun away from Marella's head and let off a warning shot into the ceiling over his head before quickly returning the now red hot metal of the barrel to Marella's temple, and Archangel saw her wince in pain as the scorching metal burned her delicate skin.

"Let her go …." Archangel said softly, drawing the nervous gaze of the impostor. "Take me instead …. It _**is me**_ you want, isn't it …."

Again the impostor Hawke waved his gun at Archangel, indicating that he should walk ahead of him and the woman down the corridor, back toward the bank of elevators.

"They sent you to kill me, didn't they …." Archangel stood rooted to the spot, wondering what the hell he could do to stop the inevitable from happening ….

_**Someone getting killed ….**_

_**Possibly someone he cared a great deal for ….**_

_**And couldn't help recalling what Zeus had said …. **_

_**If there had to be any blood spilled, make sure it wasn't any of their own ….**_

"They sent you to kill me, to clear the way for the real Hawke, whom they took so that they could do the same thing they have done to you ….. Re-programme him …. Brainwash him …. Whatever the hell they want to call it …. Beat him, starve him, drug him senseless until he doesn't know his head from his hindquarters …. And with me out of the way, they think that he will be able to get back onto the Airwolf project …. So that he can steal her for them …." He guessed and saw a brief flicker of surprise in the impostor's eyes.

"It won't work …. Even if you kill _**me**_ …. Marella …. Everyone here …. They know about Hawke …. If they _**do**_ manage to break him …. He'll never get within a thousand miles of Airwolf …."

As he finished speaking Archangel spotted movement at the other end of the corridor and closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh ….

For there at the other end of the corridor, were Dominic Santini and just a few paces behind him, Alex Beecham ….

Drawn out, no doubt, by the commotion in the corridor, and the gun shot.

_**Dammit …. **_

_**That was all they needed ….**_

The look on Dominic Santini's face made Archangel's heart lurch in his chest.

"_**String!"**_ Santini yelled, but the impostor ignored him, fixing his eyes on Archangel, as he tried to decide what his next move was ….

And Archangel saw realisation dawn in the impostor's eyes.

Realisation that he was cornered ….

No place to go ….

And, that there was only one possible outcome ….

Archangel could see his hand shaking, the gun trembling against Marella's temple as the impostor's deep blue eyes sought him out and gave him a look that was unmistakable.

_**Help me.**_

At that moment, Archangel realised that something of the man he had once been …. Whoever that might have been …. still remained, trying to fight the programming that had brought him to this moment ….

This fateful moment ….

_**Help me.**_

_**Put me out of my misery ….**_

_**You'd be doing me a favour ….**_

_**I can't fight it anymore ….**_

_**I'm not strong enough ….**_

_**Help me ….**_

_**Dammit ….**_

_**Please ….**_

_**Help me ….**_

All this he saw flash through the impostor's eyes in a split second ….

"Put the weapon down, son …." Archangel said in a soft, understanding tone of voice.

"What the hell do ya think you're doing, son …. Do as he says …." Santini implored from the other end of the corridor. "String …."

"Stay out of this, Dominic …." Archangel roared, his attention diverted for just the briefest second, but during the time it took for him to move his gaze from the impostor to Santini and back again, the impostor had raised the gun and placed it at his own temple, a look of resignation on his face that told Archangel all too clearly what was going to happen next.

"No ….. You don't have to do that, son …. We can help you …." He told the man in a steady voice. "Put the weapon down …. Let the girl go …. And you and I can come to an agreement …. We can work something out …. Let us help you …."

"String, do as he says …. _**Do as he says .…**_" Santini implored once more, grief and shock and confusion in his eyes and in his voice as he tried to shrug off Alexandra Beecham's attempts to quieten him and draw him away from the horrendous sight at the other end of the corridor.

"What the hell did you say to him!" Santini demanded of anyone who would listen.

"I know you don't want to do this, son …. Fight it …. _**Fight it ….**_ We can help you …." Archangel ignored Dominic Santini and fixed his gaze on the impostor Hawke, speaking in a low, soft, encouraging voice.

"_**String! Ohmygod …. No String …. What the hell's gotten into you! String …."**_

Before Archangel could say another word, he saw a look of resignation settle on the other man's face …. a look in his eyes that told Archangel that he was resigned to his fate ….

That it was better this way ….

And then Archangel saw the impostor's finger tighten against the trigger of the hand gun ….

And in the next instant there was a loud report as the gun exploded, firing a bullet deep into the impostor's skull, sending blood and bone and brain matter spattering into the pristine white wall beside him, and his body crumpled, lifeless, and fell to the ground, taking Marella with him.

"_**String! Nooooooooooo!"**_

"_**No Dammit!"**_

Archangel rushed forward and fell to his knees, trying to pull Marella out from under the impostor's dead body, closely followed by the security detail who had witnessed the events with horror, the team leader kicking the gun out of the dead man's hand and holding his weapon over the corpse while the others helped Archangel to free Marella and help her to her feet.

She was ashen and shaking, tears glistening in her eyes as she tried to regain both her balance and her composure, deafened by the loud report of the gun discharging the round into the impostor's head.

Archangel saw her distress and pulled her roughly into his arms for a firm embrace, stroking her hair in a gentle rhythm and telling her that everything was going to be alright ….

At the other end of the corridor, Dominic Santini sank to his knees, blue/grey eyes wide and the most pained and shocked expression on his suddenly grey face, that Alex Beecham had ever seen.

She feared that he might have a heart attack, as he suddenly pitched forward, head in his hands, and great heaving sobs took him over ….

An eerie sound coming from his lips ….

Keening like an animal ….

Despite her own shock and horror at what had just taken place, Alex Beecham's first instinct was to go to him ….

To offer him comfort and to reassure him ….

"It's alright, Mr Santini …. That wasn't String …." She rushed to his side, slipping her arms around him, offering him comfort and support. "Please …. Please …. Don't …." She tried to soothe.

"That wasn't String …." She reassured, and tried to help him to his feet, but he refused to move. "It _**wasn't**_ String …." She insisted, trying to get through to him, although she knew that she looked just as shocked and appalled by what she had just witnessed as he did ….

Dominic Santini, still sobbing frantically, somehow managed to shrug her off and hauled his bulky frame up off the floor, staggering down the corridor to where the security team leader remained standing over the still body of the impostor Hawke …. Where he again fell to his knees, reaching out to the dead man, arms yearning to hold onto him ….

"_**String …. String …. Why …. Why!"**_

Suddenly becoming aware of the older man's grief and shock, Archangel gently, put Marella away from him and giving her a weak, awkward smile of thanks, and apology for his uncharacteristic behaviour, then turned his attention to Dominic Santini, as Alex Beecham also drew up behind the older man.

"Dominic …."

"_**String …. String …."**_

"Dominic …. Look at me …." Michael Coldsmith Briggs III gently laid his hand on Santini's shoulder, trying to draw his attention away from the corpse lying at his feet. "Dominic …. Look at me …." He tried using a commanding voice, but Santini continued to sob and keen, his body curling in on its self as he gave into the grief ….

"Dominic, that is _**not**_ Hawke …. Do you hear me …. _**I swear to you**_ …. _**That is not Stringfellow Hawke …."**_ Archangel squeezed Dominic's shoulder hard. "Don't waste your grief on an impostor, my friend …. That is not Stringfellow Hawke …."

He waited a moment for his words to penetrate, and just when he thought that he might actually have to hit Dominic to get his attention, Alex Beecham stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm.

"Let me …." She whispered, and then moved closer to Dominic Santini, kneeling down beside the grief stricken older man and placing her warm hand gently against his forearm.

"Mr Santini …. You don't know me …. But I love String too …. This man is _**not**_ the Stringfellow Hawke we both love …. Think about it …." She beseeched, big brown eyes boring into him, begging him to trust her ….

"_**Our**_ String would _**never**_ do something like this …. He would _**never**_ do anything to cause you this much hurt …. No matter how much pain he was in himself …." She reasoned softly.

"He would _**never**_ do this …. He loves you too much to make you watch him die this way …." She told him in a soft, reassuring voice. "He would never choose this way to end his life …."

"You are like a father to him …. He would _**never**_ do something _**this cruel**_ to you …. You _**know**_ that …. I _**know**_ you do …. This man …. _**This man is not our String**_ …. And I think you've known it for a while …. Things are not always what they seem …. The eye can be deceived …. but you and I …. we _**know**_ the _**real**_ Hawke …. We both love him …. And we both knew that _**this**_ man was _**not**_ _**our**_ String …."

She applied gentle pressure to his forearm once more, hoping to draw his gaze, and Archangel and Marella watched in relief and gratitude as Dominic Santini finally stopped keening, as her words began to penetrate, and slowly turned his head to look at the young woman kneeling beside him.

_**Alex Beecham to the rescue …. **_

_**Again ….**_

"Think about it, Mr Santini …. You know I'm right …."

"You …." His eyes bored into her and recognition suddenly began to dawn there. "_**Lady ….**_ _**Who the hell are you …." **_He demanded breathlessly, his voice low and raw with emotion.

"I'm Alex, Mr Santini …. Alex Beecham …." She explained in a soft voice, pinning Dominic with a steady gaze. "And I love Stringfellow Hawke very much …." The smile she gave him then was radiant with all the love that she felt for Hawke and the absolute truth and purity of it almost took his breath away once more.

"This man …. Is not Stringfellow Hawke …. This man reviled me …. You saw if for yourself at the hangar on Friday afternoon …."

And suddenly, Dominic Santini _**did**_ remember.

He recognised her as the strange girl who had come to the hangar looking for Hawke …. Wanting to hire him as her flight instructor ….

He also recalled the strange expression on her face, and her odd behaviour ….

_**Was it possible that she was telling the truth ….**_

Was it possible that _**this**_ man was not the Stringfellow Hawke that for more years than he could remember, he had loved like a son ….

It was true that for weeks now he had not felt anything like _**that **_kind of love and affection for _**this**_ man ….

Fearing that the man that he loved was lost to him forever ….

The man sharing his days with him now nothing more than an empty shell ….

A stranger ….

_**Could it be true ….**_

_**Could it be that he really was a stranger?**_

He had sensed in a way that he could not put words to, that there was just _**something**_ not _**right**_ about him ….

"You know that I am right, Mr Santini …. I couldn't feel that way about this man …."

"You're Alex?" He stammered "You're _**String's**_ Alex …. Black eye, Alex?"

"Yes …." Despite everything, Alex found herself grinning at him then. "That's me …." She began to tug on his arm then, hoping to get him to his feet and was relieved when he allowed her to help him up.

"It was a lucky punch …." She found herself blushing then, as she tugged on his arm some more and began to guide him back down the corridor, although he could not stop looking back at the macabre scene at Archangel's feet ….

A flicker of uncertainty in his eyes ….

"But …. Guilty as charged …. C'mon now, Mr Santini …. Don't waste your grief on him …. The _**real**_ Hawke needs us …. Needs us both to be strong …."

With her arm draped around his waist, she continued to support his weight as they walked slowly and somewhat unsteadily down the corridor, and Alex glanced back over her shoulder giving Archangel and Marella a pointed look that told them she would take care of Santini, until they had cleaned this mess up and were ready to talk to them both.

"Are you alright?" Archangel turned his concerned eyes to Marella now.

"I'm fine …." Although, in truth, she felt far from fine …. Shock was beginning to set in and her knees felt weak …. But at least her ears had now stopped ringing. "You?"

Archangel guessed that she must also be feeling the shock that had coursed through his body at the awful sight, but he knew that there was no way that she would ever admit it to his face.

They had both seen men die before ….

In as many gruesome ways as there were to die ….

And to kill a man ….

But to see someone who looked so perfectly like their friend …. Someone they had worked closely with …. Built up a bond with ….

It was probably the most shocking and appalling thing that either of them had seen for a very long time ….

It must have been even worse for her because she had been so close at the awful moment when he had pulled the trigger ….

"Yes …. Look …. I hate to ask …. But ….You'd better go with them …. He may need a doctor …. He doesn't look too good …. Shock …."

"Yes …. Shock …." She confirmed. "What about you …."

"I'll be alright …. I need to stay here until this is sorted out, and then I'll join you up in the penthouse …. Damn …. It didn't have to end like this …. Did it?"

"I don't see how it could have ended any other way …. Except with you or I lying there too …."

"How did you know?"

"Intuition …." She smiled softly then. "And training …. I could see that he was hiding something, although I didn't know for sure that it was a weapon …. Until it was too late …. I could also see that he was trying to fight his programming …. He didn't want to do it, Michael …. I'm sure of it …. But the drugs and the brainwashing were just too strong, and once he was cornered …."

"I know …." It didn't surprise Archangel that she had picked up on those things too. "My God, Marella …. My God …. if they are half as successful with the _**real **_Stringfellow Hawke …. It doesn't bear thinking about …."

As she made to walk away, Archangel gently caught her arm and stilled her.

"Thank you …." He spoke softly and despite the fact that the security detail were still lingering in the corridor awaiting the arrival of a medical team to pronounce the impostor dead and remove the body, he leaned forward and pressed a soft brief kiss to her cheek.

"I owe you one …." He smiled gently, his fingers drifting up to lightly stroke the burned tender flesh of her temple where the hot metal of the gun barrel had rested, if only briefly, and she smiled back and gently laid her hand over the top of his for a moment before he dropped it back down at his side.

"Will it scar?"

"I don't know …. Hopefully not …." She flushed slightly then and lowered her gaze, however, when she raised her eyes to him once more they were back to their usual cool, poised professional steadiness.

"You'd better get it looked at …. Cleaned up …."

"Later …. Right now I'd better go see to Dominic and Alex …."

She took his other hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, scanning his face, until she was satisfied, that despite the shock he still displayed, that he was alright, before walking demurely back down the corridor to the bank of elevators that would take her up to the penthouse suit.

"Marella …." He called after her and she turned back to face him then. "Get an urgent message to Gypsy and Minstrel that they are to go ahead as soon as possible …. I don't care about the details of the plan, I don't care what they have to do …. just tell them to do it, and not get themselves or Hawke killed …. then let us know where we can pick Hawke up …."

"Yes Sir …. Does this mean that you are considering using Airwolf?"

"Too damned right I am …. Even if I have to go myself …. Dammit …. We can't let him suffer any longer than we have to …. That stuff they are pumping into him is lethal …." His gaze drifted down to the bloody corpse at his feet then and she saw the shudder run down the length of his body. "It's been too long already …."

She knew that they were both thinking the same thing at that moment ….

That they had to find a way to prevent _**this**_ from happening to the real Hawke too ….

They simply had to.

"I'll find a way to convince Zeus …. I have to …. After all, if all goes well with Gypsy and Minstrel it will simply be a case of transportation …." She nodded then and turned back to walk towards the elevators, leaving Archangel to deal with the aftermath of their afternoon's work.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Eleven.

Up stairs in the penthouse suite, Alexandra Beecham gently steered Dominic Santini toward one of the deep white leather armchairs and assisted him to sit. He sank down heavily, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and then took his head in his hands.

Despite the fact that she was shaking uncontrollably, now that the adrenalin that had been flooding through her body, as the awful sight she had just witnessed had unravelled, was now receding, leaving her feeling weak in the knees and in desperate need of a seat herself, she walked over to the coffee table in the centre of the room between the armchairs and the couch and poured out a cup of strong black coffee for Dominic Santini then carried it unsteadily over to where he sat.

"Mr Santini …." She spoke his name softly, watching as his old hunched shoulders shook violently with the silent sobs he was trying to conceal.

She kneeled down beside him, placing the coffee cup on the pristine white carpet, not caring if any of it spilled, then reached out and touched Dominic's hand with cool, shaking, gentle fingers.

"Mr Santini …."

Dominic forced himself to look up at her then, his grey, wrinkled old face awash with tears.

"Isn't there anything stronger than that …." He asked with a half smile then, as he saw the coffee cup on the floor beside her.

"I don't think so …." She offered him the coffee anyway, but he shook his head, knowing that nothing but strong alcohol would sit well in his stomach at that moment.

He hung his head again.

"I've lived too long …." He groaned. "I never thought I'd live to see something like that …."

"Me neither …. But you have to hang on to the fact that no matter what you _**saw**_, that man _**wasn't **_String …."

"How can you be sure?" He demanded looking up to fix his anguished blue/grey eyes on her face.

"Because I _**know**_ String …. And I love him …."

"So do I …." His tone of voice held a hint of challenge to her to deny that it was true.

"Forgive me, Mr Santini …. But it's _**not**_ quite the same …." She blushed then and he was surprised. He didn't think there was a woman left in the world who could blush like that ….

On her it looked good.

"Trust me …."

"I don't know who to trust anymore …." He hung his head again then, and in the next instant his shoulders were shaking as he gave vent to his grief.

Not knowing what else to do for him, and needing it every bit as much for herself at that moment, Alexandra reached out and took the old man in her arms, drawing his quaking body close to her own.

She met with a little resistance, for just an instant, as he stiffened in her arms, and then, as she reached up to cradle the back of his head with her hand and draw his chin down onto her shoulder, he finally relaxed against her and gave into the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him.

So did Alex Beecham.

_**Shock.**_

_**Relief ….**_

She _**knew **_that the dead man wasn't the real Stringfellow Hawke, but even so …. The way that he had chosen to end things ….

But for Dominic Santini who had believed that he _**was**_ the _**real**_ Stringfellow Hawke ….

It must have been the most horrific thing that he had ever had to witness.

"Where's my boy …." He sobbed, over and over again, against her shoulder. "Someone tell me where my boy is …." He keened.

"Sh …. Shush, Dominic …. It's all right …. It's all right …." She rocked him gently back and forth as her own silent tears tumbled down her pale, cool cheeks.

And it was into the middle of this tender scene that Marella arrived in the door way to the penthouse lounge room and stopped dead in her tracks.

"My boy …. My boy …. String …. Someone tell me where my boy is …." Dominic Santini sobbed loudly.

"Russia." Marella spoke in a calm clear voice. "He's in Russia, Mr Santini."

Dominic Santini immediately drew away from Alexandra Beecham although not completely out of her embrace, bestowing her with a gentle look of gratitude as he took in her anxious, pale, tear streaked face, before looking toward the doorway and Marella.

"Is he …. Alive?" Dominic asked, his heart in his mouth as he feared that after discovering that the dead man downstairs wasn't String, that he would now learn that the young man had perished in some far flung foreign land ….

"We believe so …." Marella said softly, walking into the room now.

"_**Believe?"**_

"Last reports we had from our agents on the ground indicated that a man fitting String's description was being held somewhere in Siberia, and that he was very much alive." Marella moved around the couch now and Dominic Santini released his hold on Alexandra Beecham as Marella drew up beside the young woman and offered her her hand to assist her to her feet.

"What the hell are you doing to get him out?" Santini demanded, fixing her with a hard grey glare now.

"We're working on it …. As we speak, Mr Santini …. We have our best people working on it …." She assured him.

"When do I leave?"

"_**You don't …." **_

This came from Archangel now, who had appeared silently in the door way and now limped heavily into the room.

"What? Whatd'ya mean?" Dominic Santini demanded in outrage.

"I mean that you and that very expensive piece of government equipment go nowhere, do you hear me, Dominic …. _**Nowhere**_ …. At least not for a while …." Archangel limped over to the couch and sank down wearily, while Marella poured him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, but I think this situation calls for medicinal brandy …. All round …." Marella nodded and crossed the room to the wet bar where she poured out four liberal shots of his best Remy Martin brandy and handed them round.

"A lot of things have to happen, Dominic, before there is any chance that the Committee will allow you to go tearing off to Russia to fetch Hawke back …." Archangel advised as he took a sip of his brandy gratefully. "And if you go anywhere Dominic …. It will be with me as a back seat driver …."

"You!"

"You!" Santini and Alexandra Beecham chorused together, then turned to look at each other, Dominic Santini with a frown drawing down his heavy brow now. "Like hell …."

"Yes …. Me." Archangel's gaze did not waver, nor did his expression change. "Or you don't go at all …."

"But what do you know about …." Dominic Santini suddenly caught himself short, not sure just how much he could say in front of the younger woman. "The Lady …." He amended.

"Only what _**you**_ are going to _**teach**_ me, Dominic …."

"There isn't enough time for me to teach you everything you need to know …. And if you think I'm taking the Lady into Russia with a greenhorn in back of me …."

"There isn't anyone else …. And there isn't time to train someone …."

"There's _**me**_ …." Alex Beecham interjected and this drew an astonished look from Dominic Santini and a look of exasperation from Archangel.

"No, Alex …."

"I don't see that you have any choice!" She protested.

"_**I do**_ …. I'm not going anywhere with some _**lady**_ greenhorn riding shotgun …."

"Not even the lady greenhorn who taught Hawke everything he knows about Airwolf's systems …." She countered as she turned her dark eyes on him then, eyes that were hard as chips of obsidian and filled with determination.

"Alex!" Archangel roared. "We are not going to have this particular conversation …."

"But, Michael …."

"No …. _**Absolutely not**_ …. No way …. Do I make myself understood …."

"I can do it, Michael …. She's _**my**_ baby too …."

"Alex you know perfectly well why I can't agree to something crazy like that …."

Dominic Santini watched the exchange between the young woman and Archangel with open mouthed awe and respect.

He had never seen anyone stand up to the government agent quite like she was doing ….

With the exception of Stringfellow Hawke ….

_**And …. **_

_**How the hell did she know that the 'Lady' he had referred to was Airwolf?**_

"You just said that there isn't anyone else …. _**I'm**_ all you've got …."

"Alex …." He gave her a pleading look then.

She knew perfectly well what he was alluding to, but she was just as determined that she would not, could not let her own mortality prevent her from doing this one thing for the man that she loved.

"It's _**my **_choice, Michael …. _**Not yours**_ …. _**My life and my choice ….**_ Don't get in my way …." She glared back at him. Her determination as unrelenting as his.

"Dammit you're as impossible to reason with as Hawke is!" Archangel roared again in exasperation.

"What do you mean, you taught String all he knows about …. The Lady's systems …." This from Dominic Santini now, and she pulled her piercing gaze away from Archangel to regard him with eyes that were a little softer now, but still full of the determination he had seen there a moment before.

"I was part of the team who created Airwolf …. The Lady?"

"Alex, dammit, _**that's enough**_ …." Archangel roared.

"Oh for God's sake, Michael …. Why don't you just shut up and let Mr Santini decide if he's prepared to take a chance on me …. He's the one whose butt will be on the line too …. So, Mr Santini, what do you say?"

"I say, String sure found himself a live one this time …. And I haven't the faintest idea what the hell you are talking about, but if it means that I can get my ass in that pilot's seat and point that baby out in the general direction of Mother Russia, then I say let this lady have her say, Michael …."

"Thank you, Mr Santini …."

"I didn't say I was prepared to fly with you, lady …. Just that I would hear you out …."

"Alex, it's been more than two years …."

"And I've probably forgotten more than you could learn in a month of Sundays, Michael …. _**I can do this**_ …. Have a little faith will you …. This means everything to me …. Because the man I love is in trouble and he needs my help …."

"Do I take it you were part of the team that created the Lady?" This from Dominic Santini again, who was impressed with her passion and her readiness to declare her love for his young friend.

He was beginning to like her.

Admire her spirit.

He could begin to see what String saw in her too.

As well as having the looks on her side, she was intelligent and feisty and passionate and devoted and loyal ….

And she wasn't afraid to admit that she loved String ….

He was also aware that there was something else going on between her and Archangel, but it was so subtle, he couldn't work out what ….

Except that it was something that neither of them really wanted to talk about in company and they were skirting around it ….

He would have to remember to prise it out of Archangel, later ….

"Yes …. I wrote and programmed all of her computer software …."

"You …. Wow …." He gave her a look of admiration before continuing. "But didn't you tell me that your pilot's licence had expired …." He recalled her brief trip to the hangar now and the supposed reason for her visit …. "Or was that just a ruse?"

"I'm not looking to fly the bird, Mr Santini …. That's your domain …. But everything that _**you **_would normally handle, in the rear seat …. That's _**mine**_ …." Alexandra Beecham explained with such a passionate look of resolution on her face, Dominic Santini could not help but admire her even more.

"How long before you estimate String will be ready to be picked up?" Dominic turned his attention back to Archangel then.

"A week …." Marella interjected then when Archangel gave Dominic a sour look that said he wasn't going to buy into this.

"Then take me up and try me out …." Alex suggested hopefully now. "That's all I ask …. If you don't think I'm good enough …. Up to scratch …. You can try to get Michael up to speed in the time that's left …."

"Sounds like a fair offer to me …." This from Marella again, who was now openly rooting for the younger woman. "She's right, Michael …. If anyone can do this …. Alex can. She's the most logical first choice …." She reminded him with an apologetic look.

"Have you forgotten …." She cut him off mid sentence with a hard glare then.

"No, of course I haven't …. And neither has Alex …. But like she said, it's her life and her choice …. We can't make a decision like this for her …. And what's to say the two of them won't just disappear into the sunset anyway …. without our blessing, Michael …. At least this way we'll be able to monitor the situation …." She pointed out reasonably and the sigh he emitted told her that he knew that she had a valid point.

"Dammit …." He muttered darkly and knocked back the remainder of his drink in one gulp.

"Besides, think about it from Hawke's point of view for a moment …. If you were in his place, which would you prefer of the people who were saving your backside, some nameless stranger or the two people you love most in all the world? Remember what he's been through …. What he might be thinking …. Feeling …."

Archangel knew that she was reminding him about the effects of that wretched drug GKP and all the awful side effects it was known to have ….

And how it would affect Hawke's state of mind ….

Without revealing too much about it to Alexandra Beecham and Dominic Santini ….

"Dammit …" He cursed again, but he was beginning to see the logic in it all.

They needed Hawke to be cooperative and calm ….

He was more likely to respond positively to these two people than to complete strangers ….

Trust them ….

Obey them ….

"Dammit!"

"So what do you say, Mr Santini? Are you prepared to fly with me? Give me a trial run?"

Dominic Santini took a small sip of his own brandy and regarded her with interest, suddenly seeing a very pale, fragile young woman standing there looking at him with eyes that pleaded with him to take a chance ….

For Hawke's sake, if for nothing else ….

"I can do this …." She spoke very softly and tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. "Let me help you do this …. For the man that we both love …."

"Well, Dominic?" Archangel demanded on another deep sigh. "What do you say?"

"I say, why the hell not …. It can't do any harm to take her up for a check flight …. And if she isn't up to scratch, it will at least give me time to work out how I am going to try to put my knowledge in your head …." He turned back to look at Alex then. "I'm sorry little lady, but it's the best I can do right now …. I'm making no promises …."

"It's more than enough, Mr Santini …. Thank you …." She came toward him then and put her arms around him, gathering him to her in a brief but strong hug. "All I need is a chance to show you what I can do …. I won't let you down …."

"We'll see …."

"All right. You're both completely insane, of course, but …. As it appears the two of you have decided …." Archangel sighed deeply and rose stiffly from the couch to amble slowly over to the wet bar to pour himself another stiff brandy.

"You'd better make the necessary arrangements …. And I will see what I can do to convince Zeus and the Committee of the logic in the plan …."

"Thank you, Michael …." Alexandra Beecham's relief was obvious from the look on her face.

"Before you do that …. Will someone tell me what the hell just happened down there …. What the hell has been going on? Who the hell was that guy anyway …." Dominic Santini fixed Archangel with a fearsome look, and the government agent let out another ragged sigh.

"Well you see, Dominic, it's like this …." He began.

_**Monday 9 **__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

_**Russia – somewhere in Siberia – 7.45am.**_

Mischa Ivanov was in the middle of making his breakfast when he heard the key in the door from the yard, at the bottom of the stairs, and Yana Petrova's weary footfalls on the stairs up to the small apartment over the garage where he worked.

He was glad that she was home.

He had some news for her ….

Good news, he hoped.

As soon as she entered the lounge room, he knew that things were not good, her face dark and her eyes burning with outrage and anger.

"What happened now?" He asked, wondering if the American prisoner had played up again during her night shift and tried to hide his knowing, smug smile.

"That moron, Gregorovich …. went to Dimitriov and _**ordered**_ him to take me off the cell block roster …." She fumed, sitting down heavily in the creaky old over stuffed couch. "Dammit, I told you he didn't like me …." She seethed, completely oblivious to the look on her colleague's face as he moved around the apartment's tiny kitchen, preparing his food.

"So?"

"So …. I got moved to the pharmacy …. And the mortuary!" She exploded. "Do you have any idea how damned insulting that is!"

"I can guess …." He smothered a smile by taking a bite from his bread and butter.

"It's not funny, Mischa …. The only good thing is the regular hours, no more graveyard shifts …. But how am I supposed to carry out our mission if I can't get into the cell block to find out what they are doing …." She reminded him scathingly.

"Our mission has changed." He took another bite of his breakfast. "Want some?" He spoke around a mouthful of food and waved the bread and butter at her and she pulled a face.

"What did you say? Changed?"

"Yeah …. I got an urgent relay from our friend over the border …." He handed her the decoded message, scratched down in pencil, his bold hand writing filling most of the small piece of paper.

As she read, her eyes grew wider.

"Well, I'll be damned …."

"Probably, love …." He chuckled. "But hopefully not until _**after**_ we get the hell out of Dodge …." He grinned at her charmingly.

She gave him a pained look, as she sat back on the couch with a sigh and re read the message.

"Tea?" He offered, cramming the last piece of bread and butter into his mouth.

"Mmmm." She responded absently, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Is this it? No detailed plan to follow? Just get him the hell out of there and don't get him or ourselves killed?"

"How much detail do you need, sweetie?" He grinned again, handing her a cup of steaming tea straight from the Samovar.

"Terrific."

"Don't you just love it when they leave it to us to use our initiative?"

"Terrific." She repeated sarcastically.

"I thought you would jump at the chance to get …. creative …." He teased.

"Creative …. Mmmmm" She mused, taking a sip of her tea, and then another, and he could see her mind working as she drank.

It did not take long for her eyes to light up and he knew that she had thought of something.

"I think I have just the thing in my little bag of tricks …." Her lips were curling into a smile now and she looked very pleased with herself all of a sudden.

"Uh oh …. I know that look …." He wagged a finger at her. "So …. Spill …. I know I said creative, but just _**how**_ creative, sweetie?"

"Well …." She let the word hang between them for a long moment.

"That bad, huh?"

"Let's just say that it means breaking one of the mission objectives …."

"Why do I get the feeling I am not going to like the answer …. But I have to ask? Which one?"

"Maybe this time ignorance is bliss, Mischa …."

"Oh no …. Spill."

"Well, let's just say that for what I have in mind …. Freedom for our friend back there in the cell block is something that he _**really **_is going to have to _**die**_ for …."

_**Pre - dawn – Somewhere in the Nevada Desert ….**_

_**Tuesday, 10**__**th**__** July, 1984.**_

"Mr Santini …. Is it much further?" Alexandra Beecham asked in a small voice as she drew in a deep breath to try to quell the nausea she was feeling.

Santini had insisted that she wear a blindfold for their early morning trip out to the Lady's hideout, and the total darkness and the bouncing and swaying of the open topped Santini Air jeep on the uneven road surface, added to the pounding headache that she still couldn't shake, were making her feel extremely sick.

Alex had no idea how she was supposed to perform to the best of her ability on this check flight, feeling so wretched ….

She only knew that she had one chance to convince this sweet old man that she had what it took….

And this was it.

"Soon be there …." Dominic Santini assured, raising his voice slightly so that she could hear him over the sound of the engine, the rush of wind over their heads and the bumping of the tires on the uneven ground.

He had been watching her on and off throughout the journey, concerned by her pallor since the moment he had picked her up at her beach house and now he felt more than a little sympathy with her, as he noted the lovely shade of green she was turning. "Five more minutes …. Ok?"

"Ok …." She drew in another gulp of air and willed her stomach to stay still.

True to his word, in a little under five minutes, Alex noticed that the jeep was beginning to slow down and there was a noticeable change in the engine sound ….

Suddenly realising that they were no longer outside in the open air ….

But inside ….

"Ok …. You can take the blindfold off now …." Santini told her as the jeep drew to a halt at last.

"Gee …. Thanks …."

"You gonna be Ok?" Dominic asked with genuine concern now as he turned slightly in his seat and helped her to untie the knot at the back of the rolled up bandana he had used as a blindfold.

"Sure." She squinted at him, seeing little blue stars swirling around before her eyes. Although there was very little light it was still more than her eyes could tolerate in one go.

"Take your time …. At least let your eyes adjust, and your stomach settle …."

"I'm all right …." She assured, peering into the gloom beyond the jeep's headlights. "Time's a wasting …."

"Time is something we have plenty of …. For now …. But listen here, girlie …. This here is serious stuff …. We don't rush things …. The Lady and I …. Slow and steady …. We still get things done …. And we don't end up getting ourselves killed …."

"I hear you, Mr Santini …."

"I know you're anxious to show me what you got …. Don't spoil it by rushing at it. Give yourself a chance." He smiled benignly at her then and she found herself responding with a smile of her own, despite her nerves. "Better now?"

"Yes …. Thank you, Mr Santini …."

"Ok, let's get one more thing straight …." He let out a deep sigh then, and Alex wondered what she had done now. "My name is, Dominic, or Dom …. Mr Santini was my father and my grandfather before him …. I ain't that old you know …."

"Thank you …. Dominic …." She smiled softly then.

"Ok …. Alex …. You ready now?"

"Oh yes …. I'm ready …. I've never been more ready …."

Dominic hopped out of the jeep and came around the other side to offer her a helping hand out, which she accepted graciously and hopped out onto the sandy floor of the cave that housed Airwolf.

"Lights …." Dominic leaned back into the jeep and hit the lever to put up the full beam of the headlights which threw a pool of light deeper into the pitch blackness of the cavern ….

And Alexandra Beecham got her first glimpse of the Lady ….

_**Airwolf.**_

Sitting in the middle of the cave, illuminated by a soft pool of light, the familiar sleek, shark like lines of the helicopter she had only ever seen on a drawing board or in her imagination, took her breath away, and she felt her eyes suddenly well up with tears.

"Ohmygod …." Alex gasped, taking a tentative step closer to the magnificent machine. "She's beautiful …."

"She sure is …." Dominic Santini agreed, amazed by her awed reaction to his Lady.

Alexandra Beecham walked slowly toward Airwolf, hand outstretched as she got closer, caressing the unblemished paintwork of the nose cone with her fingers as she walked around the front of the machine, Dominic Santini watching her reaction with undisguised pleasure.

"Hello, baby …." Her tone was soft and reverent, and it touched Dominic Santini in a way he had not anticipated.

She felt the same way he did ….

She understood ….

_**She really understood.**_

He even thought for a moment that she was going to lean in and kiss her ….

"I see now why you call her a lady …." Alex turned to look back at him, her face streaked with tears, but a beautiful smile on her lips nevertheless. "I never guessed she would be this beautiful …."

"You ain't seen nothing yet, honey …." Santini grinned and popped open the door to the pilot's seat. "Wanna try her for size?" He invited, taking the neatly folded flight suit and helmet off the seat.

"Could I? Just for a minute …."

"Sure …. Sure …."

He stepped out of the way to allow her to pass, and Alex slipped gracefully into the pilot's seat and let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"Hello, baby …." She cooed, reaching out to caress the instrument panel in front of her with delicate, shaking, fingers, and then slowly moved on to gently grasp the stick, the cyclic and then reached up and trailed her fingers lightly over the control panel over her head.

The look on her face told of her sublime pleasure.

"How does she handle?" She asked without taking her eyes off the control panels.

"Smooth …. Real smooth …." Dominic responded, watching her caress the instruments lovingly.

"You're beautiful …." Alex murmured softly, although Dominic Santini had no trouble hearing her. "More beautiful than I ever imagined …." She sighed, and as he watched her, Dominic Santini saw the shadows suddenly darken her features.

"Oh Charles …. How could someone as sick and as twisted as you, be involved in creating something so completely beautiful and magnificent …."

She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and suddenly twisted in the seat, and climbed gracefully out.

"Don't worry baby …. We'll get your daddy back …." She patted the door frame with genuine affection then, a gesture that Dominic Santini appreciated, for he had done the same thing more than once in the last few months and he smiled at her.

"Time to get serious, I guess …." He said, noting the now solemn expression on her lovely, pale face, realising that her thoughts were with Stringfellow Hawke now.

"Yes. Time to get serious."

"Here, you'd better have String's flight suit …. Probably be a better fit than the others …." He offered her the still neatly folded flight suit.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yeah. Gets pretty cold up there at the kind of altitudes this baby can reach …."

"Ok …." She took the flight suit from him carefully then, resisting the temptation to press it to her face so that she could breathe in the scent of the man who had last worn it ….

Stringfellow Hawke.

Dominic Santini reached into the rear compartment and pulled out his own flight suit and helmet and then turned his back to change into his suit, while Alex Beecham climbed into Hawke's flight suit, keeping her own clothes on underneath, knowing that Dominic Santini was right about the cold up there at angels thirty and beyond and that as well as helping to fill out the garment, they would help with insulation.

When he was dressed, Dominic Santini turned back to face Alex Beecham and inspected her appearance. The flight suit hung loosely around her slender frame and she smiled shyly at him.

"Guess it will have to do for now …."

"Next time I'll bring a belt …." She grinned then. "After all, it's not a fashion show we're going to, is it …"

"Honey, you could wear a potato sack and still look terrific …." Santini smiled. "So …. Shall we …."

Alex nodded her consent and Dominic Santini opened the rear compartment for her and watched as she made a much more graceful entrance to the engineering section than he ever had.

He was pleased to see that she immediately set about looking around at the control panels before her, beside her and over head, getting her bearings no doubt, and trying to determine if those involved in the project after she had left had made any drastic changes to the systems she had designed and then installed.

"All set?" Dominic asked after he had given her a moment to familiarise herself and get comfortable.

"All set." She confirmed in a confident voice.

"Everything where you thought it should be?"

"Yes."

"Ok then …. Helmet on …."

Dominic returned to the pilot's seat on the right side of the cockpit, popped the door and hauled his bulky frame into the cramped space, then pulling on his own helmet, he automatically reached up to depress the button to start the main rotor, and immediately the engines began to whine.

All businesslike now, Dominic Santini checked all his gauges to make sure that everything was up to full power.

"You hear me ok back there, Alex?"

"Yes Dominic …. Loud and clear." She confirmed.

"Ok …. Then here we go …."

He pulled back gently on the stick and Airwolf lifted gracefully up off the ground, rising up through the chimney like opening of the Lair and out into the vast expanse of still dark sky.

"Ok …. Tell me what we got …."

"All systems operational. Scopes are clear. No traffic. Weather is fine …." Alex's eyes roamed quickly over the various screens and flashing lights, as she spoke. "No company and clear skies, sounds good to me …."

"Me too. Give me turbos."

"Turbos." She confirmed, lifting the lever in front of her that would enable the pilot to access the turbos, which Dominic Santini did without hesitation, pulling up on the stick so that the magnificent machine gained altitude swiftly.

In the rear cabin, Alex Beecham kept her eyes on the altimeter, calling out their altitude at regular intervals until Santini levelled Airwolf out at thirty five thousand feet.

"Stars are kinda pretty from up here …." Dominic commented, peering out through the front windshield at the myriad of twinkling stars that filled his vista. "Best way to see 'em …."

"Mmmm."

"You all right back there …."

"Sure …." However, he could not help noticing that she sounded distracted.

"You ok?" He asked again. "Really?"

"Sure …."

"Alex …."

"Forgive me, Dominic …. I don't want to offend you, but I couldn't help wishing that I was sharing _**that **_particular view with someone else …."

"String." He grinned then.

"Yes. String …."

"Maybe one day soon …."

"Yeah …. Maybe …." He heard her soft sigh through his helmet then. "C'mon Dominic, lets get on with this …."

"What's your hurry? Thought you might want to take your time …. Savour the moment, after all, you might not get another chance to ride in this baby …."

"I know that Dominic, but right now, that is very low on my list of priorities …. The sooner you decide if I am up to the job, the sooner we can go get String back …."

"Amen to that …."

Although, after the time they had spent at Knightsbridge yesterday, being briefed by Archangel and Marella, they both knew that they had at least a couple of days to work out any kinks in their partnership.

After the events of Sunday, everyone had had a hard time sleeping, but Archangel had called a special meeting in his office for early on Monday morning, and Alexandra had called Sophie Rutherford, asking her to make her apologies to the Principle for her absence from school, and explain that she was sick …. Explaining that there was nothing to worry about but she had had another …. episode, which had left her with a really bad headache ….

A half truth as it turned out, as she still could not completely get rid of the nagging ache in her head.

Archangel had sent a car for her again, and when she arrived at Knightsbridge, she had found Dominic Santini already there, a cup of coffee in his hand as he had greeted her politely. She had been relieved to see the older man looking less grim and grey in the face, although the lines around his eyes testified to his lack of sleep too.

She also could not fail to see the sadness that lingered there too ….

He was obviously still having a hard time coming to terms with what he had seen yesterday, and what he now knew to be true.

The young man who had looked so much like Hawke, taking his own life like that ….

Then discovering that the real Stringfellow Hawke was a captive in Russia …. Alive, but incarcerated and being subjected to Lord knew what kind of inhuman treatment and being pumped with some poisonous chemical meant to twist his brain and distort his mind ….

Archangel and Marella had soon gotten down to business, going through the details as they knew them, wanting Alex and Santini to be fully aware of what Hawke had been through and how he might react.

Although both were appalled by the details he had revealed, both had agreed that they would rather be prepared ….

Would rather know what they were facing ….

If it meant that they could be of more use to Hawke when they did get him back.

After the meeting, Alex had spent the afternoon with Marella, refreshing her first aid skills.

When they picked him up, Hawke would have to be settled in the engineering compartment with her ….

If his behaviour was likely to be unpredictable, they couldn't risk putting him up front with Dominic, just in case instinct took over and he tried to take over the flight controls ….

So, as she would be closest to him, Alex would need to be ready to administer any first aid …. Shots …. Whatever he needed to make him comfortable and controllable during the return flight Stateside ….

During the time Alex had spent with Marella, Dominic and Archangel had gone through the details of the rescue flight, the supplies and weapons they might need, the refuelling locations and the best possible flight plan to evade Russian radar for the longest possible time.

It did not help that they did not yet have a firm destination from Gypsy and Minstrel, but they had finally settled on the main flight plan into Russian airspace, after refuelling at the American Airbase at Elmendorf, Alaska, and three possible destinations within the Russian Far East.

"Show me what you got kid …. And I'll show you what she's made of …."

"You got it …."

Dominic Santini pulled no punches in putting Airwolf, and Alexandra Beecham through their paces, testing her wits and her skill and knowledge of every system to the limit, however after an hour's hard flying he finally called it a day, satisfied that there was nothing more he needed to know about the extraordinary young woman seated in back of him.

"So?" Alex asked after a lengthy silence had elapsed. "Did I pass muster?"

"You'll do …."

"Thank you …." He could hear the tears in her voice then and his heart went out to her. "I'm still not sure that Michael will be convinced …. I got the feeling that he would have preferred to have been along for the ride …. To see for himself …."

"You leave Whitey to me …." Dominic grinned then.

"Mr Santini …." He could hear hesitation in her voice now and he wondered what she was going to say next. "I mean, Dominic …." She faltered. "Oh hell …."

"What is it honey? Just say it, whatever it is …. I don't bite …."

"I'm probably completely mad to tell you this …. But …. There is one more thing that you should know …."

"Oh?"

Dominic suddenly had a good idea what it was she was about to confess.

He had given considerable thought to the conversation she had had with Archangel ….

And what they had been trying to avoid saying in front of him ….

And then it had come to him.

He had wondered if she would be brave enough to raise it with him …. Put it out there in the open between them where they could deal with it.

His first impressions of her were that she was a pretty honest, straight forward, stand up kinda gal ….

So, he had made a wager with himself that she would come clean with him ….

Even if it put her participation in this mission in jeopardy.

"I have temporal lobe epilepsy …. That's why my pilot's licence is invalid …." She confessed on a ragged sigh.

"I know …." Dominic replied in a gentle, understanding voice. "String told me…. After you told him …. He also told me that you have it under control …."

"Yes …. I take medication …." She confirmed quickly. "I don't have seizures, Dominic, but I do have lapses in concentration …. Lose time …." She explained honestly. "Not very often mind …. But …." Her voice trailed away then. "I'll understand if you want to change your mind …." She offered a moment later in a small, sad voice.

"Well, thanks for being so honest …. But it makes no difference to how I feel about you coming along on this junket …." He told her plainly. "You know what you are doing back there, you just proved that most effectively to me, and that is all that really matters …." He paused for a moment, growing solemn now.

"But …. If its honesty you want, honey …. we both know that if you don't come along …. we won't be going anywhere. Michael may be an ace spy, but there is no way I could teach him a tenth of what he would need to know in the time we have …. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll take my chances with you …. If you'll take a chance on me …. For String's sake …."

"Thank you …. I just needed you to know …. To be prepared …."

"Like you said …. String needs us both …. And we need each other …. We have to trust each other and work together …. If you were up here and I was back there, then I might have a problem with it, but …. If you do happen to have a lapse in concentration, at least I still have access to all the weapons and defence systems from here …. Enough so we could get by …. Until it passed …."

In the rear engineering cabin, Alexandra Beecham hung her head as the tears of relief and joy spilled down on to her cheeks and she silently blessed the dear old man.

He understood just what this mission to rescue String meant to her ….

Even if he didn't really understand what risks were involved to her health.

"Thank you …." She managed through her tears at last. "Thank you …."

"Ok …. I think it's time we turned this baby around and headed for home …." And with that he executed a perfect Immelman turn and pointed Airwolf back in the direction of the lair. "Whatdya say to your staying to breakfast …. It's time we got to know each other a little better …." She could hear the grin in his voice now, and it was suddenly infectious.

"That would be lovely."

"Lovely, huh?"

Her English accent and particular way of speaking were beginning to grow on him ….

As, indeed, was the young woman herself.

"Yeah …. Lovely …."

He grew silent for a little while and then ….

"Maybe I shouldn't say this …. But …. It didn't make any difference to the way String felt about you either, honey …." He confided. "The epilepsy …." He clarified then. "He loves you …."

"I know …. I love him too …."

"Yeah …. I guess you do …. Must be certifiable …." He chuckled then. "But I guess you do …."

He grew silent again then for several minutes, leaving Alex to ponder on his assurances that her medical condition had made no difference to the love that his young friend felt for her ….

Just as, she had known deep down in her heart ….

And then, suddenly, through her helmet, Alexandra Beecham heard him humming ….

_**Verdi no less …. **_

The Italian opera he was infamous for mangling ….

According to Stringfellow Hawke.

However, to Alexandra Beecham it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, and she suddenly found herself humming along as they sped through the dawn light toward the lair, her heart lighter than it had been in many a day ….

_**String loved her ….**_

String would soon be home ….

_**String loved her ….**_

And he would soon be back in her arms where he belonged ….

_**Hold on …. **_

_**My darling, hold on …. **_

_**Just a little while longer ….**_

_**Hold on ….**_

_**Hold on ….**_

To be continued /….


End file.
